


(Slow) Burn, Baby, Burn

by orchidlocked



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1970s, 6000 Year Slow Burn, ABBA fan Aziraphale, AU - Disco, Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), BDSM, Canon-Typical suicidal ideation, Copious Amounts of Alcohol (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a pine tree, Cruising, Cunnilingus, DJ Crowley, Depressed Crowley, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hollywood, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I don't know, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Leather Kink, M/M, Marathon Sex, Marijuana, Masturbation, Music, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other, Paris - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phone Sex, Pining Crowley, Seriously Why Can't They See It, Sexy Dancefloor Times, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, This is gonna be weird, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, West Hollywood, Wing Grooming, World War II, body image issues, emo Crowley, fashion plate Aziraphale, gay paris, historical relationships - Freeform, miscommunications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 231,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidlocked/pseuds/orchidlocked
Summary: It's the 1970's, baby. Polyester is in, and so is finding a healthy outlet for 6000 years of repressed feelings for your best friend. Our story starts a few years after Aziraphale tells Crowley he goes too fast. Our favorite demon roams across Europe and America, accidentally becoming both a music producer and a DJ in the process. These two lovestruck fools will eventually work it out, I promise. A slooooooow burn, complete with a disco playlist that will have you saying, "Why the fuck do people say they hate disco?"Playlist is HERE and will be updated with each chapter: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0t911JSMifCB8sXZkGX59R?si=uL6PXU7vTWyRUpNK1nO1pw





	1. The Love I Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Well here it is, the crossover absolutely nobody asked for - Good Omens and disco. I really am sorry, but I cannot stop myself. I felt disco might be a grand gay adventure for our favorite ineffable husbands. This is going to be long and extremely geeky, with lots of notes and specifics. The entire bones of the story are present, but I do not know how many chapters this will have. I will update once I know more. Please be gentle with me, as I do truly, truly love disco and these two fools in love. 
> 
> Thanks for all the positive encouragement and good will thus far, I hope I don't blow it all by writing extensively about disco for a few dozen chapters LOL

1973  
Sigma Sound Studios  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA

 

“Stop! Stop. Stop the take,” a voice shouted from the control room.

Everyone didn't recognize that they'd been stopped right away; the music fell apart in slow motion, starting first with the horns and strings sliding off, and ending with the drummer hitting a random cymbal, then quickly muting it with his fingers. There were several loud curses and groans from the assembled musicians, and then MFSB began to murmur amongst themselves. One of the guitarists, Herb, looked at the control room window and saw a... strange face he hadn't seen before. 

“Who's that skinny white boy?”

Larry cleared his throat. “I heard his name's AJ. Record producer from the UK. Big wig. Or something.”

“Why the hell is he wearing sunglasses in here? He look like he hasn't seen the sun in a few hundred years.”

“Or ever!” a voice chimed in from the horn section. 

The pit cracked up into sputtering laughter, several members covering their mouths with their hands so as not to cause a scene.

“Who the fuck knows, man, I'm getting paid.”

The lead violinist piped up from the string section. “It sounds pretty damn good, too.”

Several musicians nodded in agreement, and everyone went on talking quietly amongst themselves. 

In the control room, Kenny and Leon sat behind the board, quibbling about how they wanted it to sound. Crowley couldn't quite make out the details of the argument, only that they weren't quite happy with it. 

“Hey AJ, why don't you hop in there and talk to him,” Kenny asked. 

“I just got here, you sure you want me to go in there?”

“Heard you added some nice touches on the single version of Papa Was A Rollin' Stone,” Leon said.

Crowley grimaced, “Uhh...”

Everyone turned around to stare at him. 

“It was a right place, right time thing, really.” Crowley barely remembered that session. All the work days were starting to run together for the most part. Being an immortal demon had its perks for sure, but keeping track of human concepts of time was not one of them. 

“Just go and say something to him,” Kenny took a drag of his cigarette. 

“Alright, yeah,” Crowley walked into the studio, unsure of what he could possibly say to such an incredible singer. 'Sing better?' No. That wouldn't do. 

“Oh, they're sending you in here now,” the tall Black man addressed Crowley with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, I'm not really sure why, I thought it sounded fucking fantastic,” Crowley responded. Some muffled laughter swept the room, probably due to his accent. He remembered that Americans get funny about the accent sometimes... 

“I'm Teddy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Teddy. I'm AJ Crowley. You can call me AJ. Or Crowley. Whatever works.”

Teddy raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Well?” Crowley realized he had to say something before he went back to the control room, even if it was rubbish.

“You believe in heaven?” Crowley asked. 

Teddy gave him a questioning look. “Sorta?”

“Okay, well imagine it like this,” Crowley continued. “Imagine you're up in heaven with the love of your life, well wait. Not your life. I mean like, the absolute love of your eternal – forever – existence, you've known this person forever,” he gestured as if about to conjure a scene in front of him. “And one day you do something you're not supposed to, nothing terrible or anything, and God herself,”

Crowley coughed and tried to cover, “God himself – just totally fucking overreacts, next thing you know, you've been cast out, falling down through the clouds straight into a lake of hellfire. So you get kicked out of heaven and then, when you're at your absolute lowest point, absolute fucking rock bottom, you realize that you've also been separated from your eternal, forever love. And in that moment, you feel like there's no way you can go on, absolutely no way.”

He looked down, took a ragged breath, and hoped he wouldn't have to keep carrying on. Several of the musicians were directing wide eyed looks of concern his way. Shit... 

When Crowley caught his eye again, Teddy looked pained. He reached out and put his hand on Crowley's shoulder. “Man, that hit me right in the chest. Are you going through some shit? You ok, man?”

Crowley nodded and kept his head down. “All good, it's good,” he said in a tone that clearly telegraphed it was definitely not, in fact, good. At all. 

“Hang in there man, you'll get over her. Life goes on.” Teddy extended his hand to Crowley. 

Crowley shook Teddy's hand. “Thanks, mate,” he said softly. 

An idea popped up in Crowley's head. He turned to face the drummer. 

“Your name's Earl, right?”

“Yep, that's me.”

“Whatever you're doing on the uh.. the,” he brought his hands together to mimic the hi-hat, because he couldn't remember what the hell it was called, “the one that goes like this, it sounds great. Bring it in sooner.”

Earl laughed as he spun the drumsticks around in his hand. He nodded and gave a thumbs up. “Alright, yeah. I'll try that this time.” 

Teddy went back to the vocal mic, and Crowley headed out of the live room. 'Yeah, life goes on. It drags. It fucking plods along like a funeral dirge when the love of your existence is a genderless ethereal being and you're destined to spend the rest of eternity longing for them every minute of every day like a lovesick teenager,' he mumbled/thought to himself as he sank back into the couch in the control room.

“What'd you say?” Kenny asked him. 

“Ah, nothing,” Crowley scratched the back of his head and slouched further into the couch. 

Kenny turned back around. He pressed a large button on the console and the reels on the tape machine began to spin.

“All right, rolling.”

Everyone watched as Earl counted off the beat silently. The Rhodes came in at the beginning, rolling gently over the chord changes. The mood among the engineers was cautiously optimistic as everyone watched all the musicians prepare themselves to come in. Heads were swaying in time with the music in the studio and control room alike.

Crowley found himself shaking his heel in time with the music. He quite liked this feel, wherever it was going. The hiss of the hi-hat reminded him of the sounds of a roaring fire, and the strings washed over the music. By the time the background singers came in, Crowley was bobbing his head back and forth with everyone else in the control room, occasionally snapping his fingers. 

“That's new,” Kenny said. 

“What's new?” Leon asked. 

“The four-on-the-floor thing Earl's doing with the hi-hat. It's new. Sounds good.” 

Teddy's voice came in, equal parts earnest and powerful. He sang into the mic as though he were addressing his lost love directly, a mix of emotions settling clearly on his expressive face. 

More feet joined the tapping in the control room, loafers and sneakers; a few extra snaps were heard now and again and Leon was drumming softly on the edge of the console. As the band settled into the groove, more liberties were taken with the rhythm play between the background singers and the percussion section. Crowley closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. 

About four minutes in, the song shifted and started to transition into where it would eventually fade out. Teddy was on a roll, ad libbing an entire narrative. Crowley could only catch about every other phrase, but the feeling was coming through loud and clear. 

“I thought I had you right here in my hands, I thought I had you all to myself,” Teddy's voice cracked over some of the most emotional words. Crowley reached up and rubbed the center of his chest a bit. Whew, he was feeling something for sure...

“Weren't they all supposed to end after that last run-”

Kenny cut Leon off, “No, no, nope. Let it roll.”

“Come on back home, come on back home, baby,” he sang as he gripped his chest with one hand and the headphones with the other.

Crowley was practically dancing at this point, his entire body moving along with the music. The movements from those playing in the studio and those recording in the control room were syncing up, everyone moving to the beat in a wave sweeping over everyone present at the session.

“Take me back, take me back, take me back, yeah yeah,” Teddy's voice echoed from the wall of playback speakers.

“Man, he's absolutely fucking wailing, this sounds incredible,” Kenny said. 

“Is he... crying?” an engineer asked.

From the control room, it was hard to tell if Teddy was simply sweating from the intensity of a fierce performance, or if his face was covered in tear tracks. He looked anguished as he continued to sing, stream of consciousness style. The musicians were scanning the room for cues, following the Teddy's lead and vamping as the intensity started to build once again.

Leon frantically waved his hands in a circular motion and mouthed “keep going!” to the backup singers and the musicians. 

“Has anybody out there lost someone?” he shouted into the microphone.

Some high fives and special handshakes started to happen in the control room. Leon stood up once more and began frantically conducting, signaling the musicians to build it up to one more final crescendo and then back down to finally end the song. 

“Wow,” said Leon. “That's it. That's golden.”

Kenny turned around to face Crowley. “Don't know what the hell you said to him, but that was definitely the take.”

He held up a hand. “Oh lads, no. Gotta disagree. I really cannot take any credit - at all - but it's an honor to be here,” Crowley reached out and shook Kenny & Leon's hands before looking out the control room window.

Teddy pointed a finger over his heart, then pointed and waved to Crowley, who gave him a small salute back before he slinked out the door and down the hallway. 

Crowley could still hear the song echoing around his head. He started to sing the words to himself a bit, then stopped. He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and really – no one deserved to be subjected to that sort of torture. Hmm. This 'record producer' gig might not be so bad. Could be a good outlet for all these feelings that had been bottled up longer than wine from the Roman Empire days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening: 
> 
> The Love I Lost – Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes  
> I'm Weak For You – Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes
> 
> Sigma Sound Studios was the home of the band MFSB. Depending on which version you use, it either stands for Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, as everyone was connected through music, or... the other version is "mother-fuckin' son-of-a-bitch," which is what the musicians would say to each other to compliment their skills.
> 
> MFSB was a huge group of Black and white musicians, so I like to imagine they might have been playful with one another about stuff like white boy jokes. Especially if that 'skinny white boy' happens to be... an actual demon. 
> 
> They were the house band for Philadelphia International Records. Often the string section of the Philadelphia orchestra would join in to play with MFSB. Artists on PIR included Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes, O'Jays, Three Degrees, Dee Dee Sharp, Instant Funk, Trammps. All names used in the first chapter are first names of people who actually played as part of MFSB. If I have to change that I will, don't know how that works!
> 
> The reference to "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" is the Temptations Motown recording from 1972. It sounded like something our favorite music-loving demon might have had a hand in creating.
> 
> The control room is the part of the recording studio where the engineers are, and the main room is where the musicians are. The rooms are usually soundproof, so that's why there's often a window present between the control room & main room.
> 
> Teddy (Pendergrass) is IMO one of the most underrated singers of his time. He released several records with Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes (many people thought he was Harold Melvin as he was the lead singer of the project) and several solo records. Sadly, he was involved in a horrible car accident in 1982 in which he ended up paralyzed from the chest down. He continued to release work and even perform after his accident, but it interrupted his career at a crucial moment. Do yourself a favor and listen to his work. 
> 
> And let's give Earl (Young) his credit, as he's the real MVP in this chapter (and we will see him again). Young is the American drummer credited with inventing the disco (four-on-the-floor/hi-hat) style of drumming, The song they're recording in this fic, "The Love I Lost" is thought of as one of the first disco songs, if not THE first. He's known as the first drummer to use extensive use of the hi-hat cymbal through the entire time of an R&B recording, which led to DJs using his recordings because they could hear the cymbal through the headphones as they prepared to line up and mix records. I know this is just fanfic but I feel very strongly about crediting the actual inventor of disco here. LOL. excuse my geekery.
> 
> Kenny (Gamble) and Leon (Huff) are the production team known for creating what's called The Sound of Philadelphia/Philly Soul. They are the two behind the board for the session. Extensive catalog with a very distinctive (and incredible) sound.
> 
> Will add more notes if needed! I'm tired lol!


	2. All I Ever Do Is Think About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is back in London, before another work adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love brooding, sad, full of his feelings Crowley. sigh

on a Monday, a few weeks later  
London

 

Crowley stood by the counter, looking at a small ceramic replica of the Liberty Bell (accurately depicted with the large crack running diagonally through it) and a large handcrafted wooden bookmark with an oversized silky rainbow tassel on the top. He'd taken a day to wander around Philadelphia in hopes of finding a rare book, something edible that would survive the ride home, or anything he could see Aziraphale wearing, but he'd struck out on all counts. But, he couldn't bear the thought of coming home without anything for his favorite angel, so tchotchkes it was. The bookmark was especially nice, oversized, about a foot and a half in length. Crowley had smiled to himself at the mental image of Aziraphale delicately placing it in the middle of a book, closing it, gently cracking his neck, and then asking, “Where are we going for lunch?” Ahh. What he wouldn't give for that.

He ran his fingers along the edge of the bookmark and flicked the tassel back and forth. The question still weighed on him: should he even go see Aziraphale? Maybe it was too soon. They had only crossed paths once since that night in Soho, after which Crowley had to sit in the Bentley for a half hour before he was even able to drive. Once back at the flat, he'd put on a Pet Clark record he saved for particularly dark days and laid face down on the floor for a few hours. He thought he had been balancing it out well, at least, since the incident with the books in the church... obviously he cared very much for Aziraphale, who was his oldest, best, (and only?) friend. Perhaps his feelings were really starting to get the best of him. It had only been a few years since Aziraphale had given him that pained look and told him he went too fast. Hmm. They'd had spats before that had resulted for them not speaking for centuries. He wasn't in the mood for that to happen now, but he could certainly give Aziraphale some space if that's what he needed. At times like these, he was thankful for the long-game perspective provided by an eternal lifespan.

Crowley flipped over the Liberty Bell and pried the price sticker off the bottom with the edge of his fingernail. Maybe the best option would be to drop them off at the shop for Aziraphale to discover in his own time. Yes, that's what he'd do. He'd just leave a note with them and see what happened. Maybe next time he came home to London, there'd be a message from Aziraphale on the answering machine. Crowley really hoped so, as that was the sole reason he owned one. He scrounged around in the junk drawer (one of his favorite places to create mild chaos) for a pen and notepad. They were in here somewhere... unless another demon was messing with him now... wait, there they are. He took a deep breath and focused; his handwriting was not the best:

Hello Angel,  
Picked you up a little something from my last work trip  
Hope you're well

 

No need to sign it, they hadn't done that in millennia. He folded the note and tucked it into the crack in the ceramic Liberty Bell. He'd find some time to take it by the shop tomorrow. Crowley let out a huge sigh and flopped himself dramatically back on the sofa. As a general rule, he didn't read. He'd spotted something in Philadelphia that made him change his mind, although he'd waffled back and forth on it for about twenty minutes before taking the plunge. He'd ultimately justified the purchase by thinking about it as an instruction manual.

Crowley picked up the first (and only) book he'd purchased for his own usage, “House Plants: How to Keep 'em Fat and Happy,” and opened it up. There were worse ways to kill time...

“There's a great feeling of success that comes from following a plant's growth, shaping it into more beautiful, healthy forms, propagating new plants from it, and having it around for a long time as a robust friend...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening:
> 
> TSOP (The Sound of Philadelphia) – MFSB
> 
> I Couldn't Live Without Your Love - Petula Clark
> 
> There Goes My Love, There Goes My Life – Petula Clark
> 
>  
> 
> The album Crowley put on is Petula Clark's “I Couldn't Live Without Your Love”
> 
> "House Plants: How To Keep 'em Fat and Happy" is actually a real book from the 70s. I couldn't resist. Sentence is from the blurb on the back. ;)


	3. I Want To Be Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley ends up having a transformative experience during a 1974 session with the Ohio Players.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is such a slow burn, so thank you so much to everyone who's reading along. this is basically going to be a history of disco book with Aziraphale & Crowley being madly, ridiculously in love ... I promise it will get good. but bear with me. thank you so much for reading <3

1974  
Paragon Studios  
Chicago, Illinois, USA

 

Crowley wasn't planning on being out tonight; he'd only just settled back into his hotel room with a bottle of wine when the phone rang. He was barely able to make out the gist of the conversation, but apparently someone named Barry urgently needed a sound engineer for the night. 'What the hell,' he'd thought as he snapped his fingers and conjured up a clean shirt. Not like he had anything better to do.

Once he'd gotten the address, he'd magically made his way over just in time to catch Barry on a smoke break. They briefly shook hands, and Crowley followed Barry as he stomped out his cigarette and gestured to the building's entrance. Crowley's black boots clicked up the steps behind him.

“Got your name from Leon. Good thing you're here, Lee's got a family emergency and my wife just went into labor. What you doing in Chicago?”

Hmm. So far, he'd caused a three day air traffic snarl up at O'Hare and ensured yet another losing season for the Cubs, but…

“Just visiting a friend,” Crowley muttered. They went inside, through a few more hallways, and then into the control room. It was beautiful, with familiar tones of warm golden light, rich wood paneling, and a giant console stretching across the width of the room.

Barry grabbed his jacket from back of the chair. “This is our Trident TSM, I assume you know it well since it's also from London, uhh... talkback is here, what else do you need to know?”

Crowley shook his head, “Think I'm all right.” Though if he hadn't been able to rely on six thousand years of magical powers, he most definitely would not have been all right. The console was the most complicated piece of technology he'd ever seen, yet there seemed to be a warmth emanating from it. He reached out and ran his fingertips along the wooden edge.

“Players,” said Barry, “Meet AJ Crowley, record producer from London.”

Crowley was greeted by a whole lot of blank stares and a few raised eyebrows.

“Eh, I'm not sure I'd go that far. Just stepping in to engineer for the night, Barry's got to go meet his new baby girl at the hospital,” Crowley made an exaggerated gesture indicating a round pregnant belly. Barry shot him an odd look. Oops! Perhaps he shouldn't have spoiled the surprise.

“Hey! Congratulations!” The live room erupted in a mix of cheers, applause, and... cowbell?

“Thank you, thank you, I'll be back when I can. You're in good hands with Mr. Crowley here,” Barry said while putting on his coat, “but I gotta run. Good luck.”

Crowley slouched down in the chair. “All right lads, at your service.”

There was a moment of silence and then the drummer piped up. “AJ, I gotta ask, what's with the shades?”

“It's a look. All the rage in London.”

“A look? You _look_ like you got dragged here by the devil, man,” quipped the bassist.

“Well, if you want to get technical with it, I'm actually _running_ from the devil,” Crowley deadpanned.

There was a beat as the musicians looked around, “is this guy for real?” the unspoken question floating around the room. Then the drummer broke down into laughter and everyone else quickly followed.

“All right AJ, I'm Billy,” said the man from behind the keyboard. “The one we're working on now is called Together.”

“Got it. Let me know when you're ready.”

“Diamond, you ready?” Billy addressed the drummer, who nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

Blast it, where was the record button... never mind. Crowley used magic to get the tape rolling and pointed back at the band.

The song started out with a beautiful piano run and harmonies anchored by a very high falsetto. Horns came in and played gorgeous sliding melodies over the top. The music began slowly building and crescendoing and he couldn't help but tap his feet. When all the elements combined, it almost sounded... celestial? Crowley hadn't heard anything like this for a very, very long time. He sat back in the chair, closed his eyes, and let himself get lost.

_Now baby, you and me, we got to be together_

_I'll take my share of love's ups and downs, yeah_

Crowley was suddenly overcome by a vision from the distant past: He was standing on the wall that surrounded the Garden of Eden, looking out over the desert, and Aziraphale was shielding him from the rains with his wing. That storm had been such a good cover for the demon to move closer to Aziraphale, breathe in his scent (lush green, morning dew, lily, vanilla, spun sugar, comfort), and feel the warmth radiating off him... what was that wailing noise?

 

“Did we get that last take ok?” Billy asked.

“Yeah, yeah, but do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Diamond looked around.

Crowley paused. The wailing was still going, seemed to be getting louder. “Do you lot hear a siren?”

“What?”

“A fire! It sounds like a fire...” Crowley trailed off. There had been physical 'side effects' of his feelings before. He felt a heated flush rising up his chest.

“Fire! Ooh. I like that. Fiiiiii-yah,” Billy drawled out the word. “Hey Rock,” he said, addressing the bassist, “work with me on this.” The band started playing off an uptempo riff.

“I'm pretty sure that was an actual fire engine,” Crowley leaned into the talkback.

“Just hit record,” Rock said, as he continued to play. “If the alarms go off in here, we'll leave.”

“All right, you're rolling, but I'm gonna go check on that.” Fucking crazy Americans...

Crowley ran out of the control room and down the hallway. He threw the door to the street open and looked around. There. To his right. About two blocks down, two fire engines were pulling up to the scene of a blaze that had blown out several windows. His mouth fell open as he watched another three pull up, sirens absolutely blasting. He rubbed the center of his chest and took a deep breath. Okay, so that was most definitely a manifestation of his feelings for Aziraphale. He closed his eyes and willed himself back to the present. He had a job to do tonight; he had the rest of eternity to continue his reflections upon the dilemma of being hopelessly in love with your best friend. Hopefully he could keep his emotions from starting any more blazes for the rest of the evening... 

When Crowley made his way back to the control room, the entire band was in there, with Billy was behind the console. Joyful laughter filled the room, and almost everyone was clapping or snapping along with the music.

“AJ,” Billy turned around to give him a handshake... wait, no, he was gathering his hand, sliding their fingers against one another, and... now Billy was bumping his fist against his? Crowley had to use a bit of magic to keep up with the complex and intricate hand gesture. Billy chucked a bit. “Hey, not bad for a white guy. You gotta hear this.”

Billy played back the track, which began with the sounds of sirens, then quickly settled into a rhythmic groove with the bass and drums. The first words? Fire, dragged out into song as “Fiiiii-yah.” Crowley's head began to bob back and forth seemingly of its own accord and his foot joined in with a smooth tap, tap, tap, tap on the floor.

“This sounds amazing. Absolutely brilliant.” Normally Crowley was not one for effusive praise, but something about this whole experience was deeply moving, in all senses of the word; his body continued its movements to the beat, and a bright, familiar, beautiful feeling began to blossom in his chest. He... liked this. He... was _enjoying_ this. How long had it been since he'd done anything 'job related' that had made him feel so wonderful?

As the track neared its end, Billy started herding everyone back out into the main room. “Come on guys, gotta get back to work. I don't even know what time it is, but we've been at this for a while.”

Crowley caught a whiff of nervous energy from the bandleader, who was currently thinking about how they were paying for the studio by the hour. Pffft. Time. A flexible concept. Would it even count as a demonic intervention? Once everyone was in their positions, Crowley willed the clock back a few hours and punched the talkback. “Lads, it’s just now half past ten.”

Simultaneously:  
“You’re shitting me,” Billy laid his head on the top of the Rhodes.  
“Jesus fucking Christ,” from Diamond behind the kit.

Crowley punched back, “Nope, it's just me in here. You lads want to keep going?”

Laughter rippled across the room. “Yeah, man.”

“All right, rolling.”

The Players counted off an uptempo track. It wasn't too long before someone got off the beat and the whole thing fell apart. Sugarfoot stretched out a yawn, and Billy rubbed his eyes. Hmm. Maybe the extra time alone wasn't enough...

“Tell you what I'm gonna do,” Crowley said. “I'm going to just let the tape run and rest my eyes for a moment. If you want to stop, just... I don't know, slap the window or something.”

He got a series of thumbs up from all the musicians in the main studio room and in the isolation booths.

Crowley laid down on the couch and closed his eyes. As far as demons went, he was fairly... lazy. When it came to temptations, evils, sins, and general malevolence, he'd learned quite quickly there wasn't anything he could do that humans couldn't do better (worse?). They were so skilled at doing all sorts of wretched things to themselves and each other. He'd quickly learned after his Fall that if he stayed out of the way and occasionally took credit for a truly horrid human invention, he'd be fine. He'd wracked up several commendations over the millennia doing just that. He also liked being on earth, and while he hated 'people' in the generalized sense that many other humans felt, he really didn't mind humans. His favored way of “doing his job” was to focus on the annoyances and minor temptations. He had always been a great tempter...

He sunk deeper into the couch cushions and visualized a different form of temptation. He had picked up on the energies in the room between each musician and their instruments. Diamond caressed the drumsticks every time they stopped. Billy was constantly wiping off the top of the Rhodes. Every musician was connected in some way to their instrument. There was desire, yearning, hunger lust, yes, but also love, warmth, tenderness, devotion. When all the energies combined in the music, the only way to describe it was 'magical.' Crowley tapped into the feelings and emotions swirling around the room and rubbed his hands back and forth as if warming them in front of a fire. Then he flicked his fingers in the direction of the live room and sent it off.

It felt like many of the temptations he'd done in the past, but there was a current underneath he hadn't experienced since before he Fell. He was flooded with memories of his time as an angel, the overwhelming warmth and love, and then the separation and pain of the Fall itself. Crowley felt a heaviness wash over him, and he slipped into sleep.

A rousing drum intro bled into his consciousness, but he didn't fully awake. Instead, he felt himself swirling through the music; beautiful harmonies anchored by insistent bass lines and a rhythm that seemed to vibrate into the core of his being. Certain phrases floated gently to the top...

_I'm gonna be free, yes, I am_

_I'm gonna be free_

Free. What would it mean to be free? The first image to appear was sitting in the park with Aziraphale, looking over to see the angel laughing, head thrown back, those soft white curls fuzzed out against the sunlight. Crowley reached over and took the angel's hand. He felt the warmth of Aziraphale's skin under his thumb as he stroked gentle circles on the back of his hand...

_I want to be free_

_I want to be free_

He drifted back into sleep, alternating between visions of fire and heat, water and vapor, and long-held fantasies about his best friend. Holding Aziraphale close, reaching over to put his arm around the angel, lacing their fingers together on the front seat of the Bentley, an embrace in the park, a soft and tender kiss tasting faintly of lemon meringue pie... or perhaps madelines...

A dissonant, drum heavy piece with the feel of a battle march blasting through the speakers was what finally roused Crowley. He went back to the console and looked into the live room to see the entire band playing furiously. He stood near the window, absolutely transfixed. After several dynamic shifts, Sugarfoot finally took them to the end with a psychedelic guitar solo, followed by Diamond crashing the ride. Everyone took a heaving breath once the last echoes of the song had faded.

“What the hell was that?” Crowley growled into the talkback. “That's absolutely fucking... demonic.”

The musicians nervously glanced around at one another. He held up a finger to clarify. “Let me add, that I fucking love it.”

“We were just fooling around, and it sounded so funky... so we kept going,” Diamond said, waving a drumstick around.

“That's it, everybody. We got it all,” Billy stood up from the piano and stretched his arms up. “Damn, I'm tired.” Laughter echoed from the live room into the control room as the band began slipping in to take a listen to their work.

Just as they began replaying the second track, the control room door opened and in walked Barry. A cheer erupted from the room as Billy and Diamond leapt up, each trying to be the first to high-five Barry, who was smiling like a drunken fool despite the fact he looked like he'd been hit by a couple lorries. Everyone, including Crowley, took their turn giving him hearty congratulations and dishing out 'aww's and 'oooh's over the four Polaroids he'd brought of his wife and brand-new baby girl.

The overall mood was 'exhausted, but happy.' Each song sounded better than the last. Crowley had allowed time to slowly resume its normal pace, so no one was surprised by the hour displayed on the clock. However, the evening's fantastic journey did appear to be catching up to the musicians, who were all covered in sweat and taking turns dipping out to the water fountain in the hall.

Barry began gathering up the tapes. “You did all this? Since I was last here?”

“Yeah, Barry, we got it done,” Billy said.

“How in the hell did you get all this done so fast? I've never...”

One of the horn players who hadn't spoken much all evening cleared his throat. “I don't know, Barry. It felt like there was a real... a real good spirit or something in there with us.”

“Yeah, what Merv said,” Diamond added. “Never been at a session like this. Just felt... like magic.”

A hush fell over the room, and Crowley felt several pairs of eyes on him.

“The magic was here long before me, lads. Extraordinary stuff here. Absolute pleasure working with you all,” he said. “If you're ever in London, let me know if I can do anything for you. Anything at all.”

Billy was first to shake Crowley's hand, and he felt a bit of pressure to make sure it was a good handshake. What were these... feelings swirling around him? He really wasn't one for physical contact, or even friendly banter. Yet in the course of an evening, he'd been on an intense journey with these people. Crowley hadn't been playing the music, but he felt he'd been a part of something important, monumental, so overwhelmingly _human_. Again he felt that bright, familiar, beautiful feeling swelling in the center of his chest, growing stronger with each handshake he shared with the band. The musicians headed to the live room to pack up and soon it was just Crowley and Barry, who couldn't hide his amazemenet.

“Seriously, this is...”

“Stop, please. I honestly just sat here and pressed a few buttons.”

“Something happened in there, something... really good,” Barry said.

 Crowley shrugged and picked a piece of lint off his trousers.

“You engineered a large part of this, so your name's going on the jacket.”

“Hmm?”

“We're adding an engineering credit for you. Nice work in there. The band, me, Lee, we have a ton of good shit to work with. And thanks again for saving my ass,” Barry reached out to shake his hand.

“Really, don't mention it. It was just a minor mira-... intervention, really.” Crowley slipped his jacket on and ruffled a hand through his hair. He had one foot out the door when Barry cleared his throat.

“Hey, AJ?” he asked tentatively.

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“How'd you know my wife was having a girl?”

Crowley cocked his head to the side. “Lucky guess, mate. Congrats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paragon Studios was sadly demolished in 2015 after the building was sold. :(
> 
> The album referenced is "Fire" by the Ohio Players from 1974. Listening list for this chapter is just the entire album. It's so wild and good. They're one of the most sampled bands of all time but much of their catalog is underrated, so enjoy, and peep the track listing on the album. Or I will come back and put more notes in here. I'm so tired lol.


	4. Heaven Must Have Sent You From Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections from a transatlantic flight. The first time Crowley set foot in a recording studio was a complete fluke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, been dealing with a lot of family stuff and such so sorry for the late update. Just want to say that we are going to be diving into a lot of history here, a lot of American music and other history and it’s not always pretty. So if that’s not your thing, no worries if you don’t want to read. Just a heads up.

About ten days later  
Over the Atlantic Ocean

Crowley hated air travel. If he wasn’t making it miserable, it was making him miserable. On the flight back to London, he got upgraded to first class, which should have made things less hellish. Instead, he ended up crammed in a flying sardine tin surrounded by some of the nastiest, meanest humans he’d ever seen. They truly had a leg up on any demon he knew when it came to being wretched to each other. His mood was so foul, he’d caused three separate delays, spilled two beverage carts, and from what he could tell, started divorce proceedings for the couple seated in 2A and B. He stared out the window and sucked down the last of his whisky on the rocks, his third so far.

The only reason Crowley took a flight home was because one of the record labels he’d apparently been working for bought the ticket for him. When he’d gone to say goodbye to the staff at Mercury, he was surprised to be enthusiastically greeted by several staff members (some of whom seemed rather important) who appeared overjoyed to present him with a rather large check (unnecessary, but Crowley could always find ways to blow money). He was also introduced to a man named Jim who worked in A&R for a few labels. He’d told Crowley about a session taking place in London in the next few months and asked if he’d be a part of it. Crowley was enjoying playing the part much more than he’d expected, so he enthusiastically agreed and gracefully accepted a private car to the airport.

The first time he’d entered a recording studio had been a complete fluke. He’d tried and failed to set up the holy water caper in the spring of ‘67. It wasn’t the first time he’d been so outrightly rebuffed by Aziraphale, but it had been the most painful. After the angel left, Crowley had to sit alone in the Bentley for a good while before he was able to pull himself together enough to drive.

What did it even mean to go too fast in an eternal context? Sometimes it seemed Aziraphale didn’t quite understand the powers Crowley had but chose never to employ. He was a master tempter; among the best Hell had ever produced. If he’d wanted to, he could have very, very easily tempted Aziraphale into many things, both physical and emotional. He’d never done that to Aziraphale; he couldn’t even bear the thought of breaking his trust like that. All he wanted was to be able to give, to show, his Angel his love. It honestly didn’t even matter to him if it was returned. What made Crowley feel the best was being able to show the love, the concern, the care. (Hence the dozen or more rescue operations he’d undergone over the millennia, along with all the minor demonic interventions for Aziraphale’s benefit alone.) Showing love and care was one of the things he missed most about being an angel. Even as a demon who was good at being well, demonic, many of the the expectations floated upon him after his Fall were out of alignment with his core nature. And that was the hardest part about his job, hands down.

Crowley knew he was a mess of emotions and he knew nothing good ever came from ignoring it. Last time he’d felt this overwhelmed and wounded, he’d dealt with it all by sleeping for a century, but that didn’t do anything to solve the root of the problem. Namely, that he slept for a hundred years and woke up to all the same feelings and all the same obstacles. So no, none of that. He could at least continue trying to do something mildly productive while pinning his entire existence away. Crowley had been searching for somewhere far away to go to deal with it all, so he’d snapped his fingers and found himself, somewhere in the middle of America, in a medium sized city which appeared to be dealing with the aftermath of some particularly awful riots. It had taken him three days to gather his bearings; parts of the city closely resembled London after a blitz.

As far as he could see, the humans who looked absolutely nothing like Adam & Eve were inflicting absolutely horrid violence upon the ones who did. He tried to find out the reasoning behind the destruction and intimidation and couldn’t find any. At all. His immediate supervisors had seen the fires from the riots and assumed it was all Crowley’s doing. He’d been sent a transatlantic commendation straight from Beelzebub herself for outstanding performance. After Crowley got the message, he’d incinerated it immediately and made his way to the nearest bar.

This was what the humans were doing to each other? This was what they chose to do? What a needless mess. Crowley didn’t even know what exactly had happened, but he sensed the same awful mix of human emotions he’d felt in situations where those with power were inflicting harm on those without. The pain and suffering hung in the air, palpable and unsettling; he’d been an angel once and he could never forget the contrast between all the love, the pain of the Fall and what came after. Miserable. Pointless.

Crowley crawled in and out of his booth only to obtain another drink, and then another, and then another, from the bartender, an older Black man with soft brownish hazel eyes, framed by laugh and smile lines, greying hair around his temples, which continued with a small silver streak above his left eyebrow. There were no other patrons in the bar aside from another man who’d stumbled in about twenty minutes after he’d arrived. He sat with his back against the booth staring at the table, watching the surfaces of the room begin to spin. Crowley heard the faint sound of a knob clicking and the room was flooded with music.

A slow melody began flowing through the bar, anchored by finger snaps, punctuated by rhythmic chimes, then a man’s golden voice singing as though he was in the same room. Other singers echoed, “oh, honey,” then the gentle swell and crescendo of background strings and soft drums. The overall effect reminded Crowley of ...

A woman’s voice joined in, and Crowley felt tears welling up being his sunglasses:

_Heaven must have sent you from above_

_Oh, heaven must have sent your precious love_

That’s what it reminded Crowley of, Heaven, if the place had decent music. He sat alone in a red pleather booth, sucking down whisky after whisky, tapping his feet and drumming his fingers on the table in time with the music. Crowley leaned into the fuzzed out feeling of being extremely intoxicated and focused on the music, trying to forget the hollow ache in his chest.

———————  
He stumbled back up to the bar for his... seventh? (eighth? He’d lost track) when the bartender set his towel down on the counter and gave him a pointed look.

“I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”

Crowley looked up. The bartender was staring at him curiously, but not invasively.

“You’re right, I’m not,” his voice was croaky in the way it always got when he was overcome with emotion. “Where am I, exactly?”

The bartender raised his eyebrows and laughed, a rich sound that echoed off the wooden surfaces. “You’re in Detroit, man.”

“Right.”

“British, huh? Picked a hell of a time to come to Motown.”

“Yeah, it’s uh,” Crowley looked down, suddenly embarrassed, “kind of a long story, mate. What’s your name?”

“I’m Robert.”

Crowley extended his hand. “Name’s AJ.”

“Nice to meet you, AJ.”

“Pleasure’s mine.”

“Do you really need another? You did this entire bottle,” Robert held up an empty bottle of whiskey and shook it. “Stuff’s not good for you, man.”

Crowley stilled at the small but incredibly touching gesture from a total stranger. Robert was right though; Crowley wasn’t human, but what he was doing at the moment definitely wasn’t the best way to deal with the swirling mess of emotions inside him. The alcohol amplified the sadness, the emptiness, and didn’t seem to add much besides dizziness.

“Yeah, you know, you’re right,” Crowley said, rubbing his head, which ached despite his best demonic efforts.

“Have a soda,” Robert said, passing over a cold can. “On the house.” Crowley smiled. One of his few food and drink related weaknesses was a carbonated beverage. One of those modern inventions he was glad he was around to see. He cracked open the can and sipped like a hummingbird from a feeder. All those tiny little bubbles on his tongue, such a sensation.

“Thank you,” Crowley said. He wanted to ask a question, though he was afraid he lacked the wisdom or experience to receive the answer. He took a few more sips of his soda. Once Robert turned his back for a moment to toss a few more bottles in the trash, he took the opportunity to sober himself up and send the whisky back from whence it came. He also fished out some unfamiliar currency from his pocket and set it on the bar.

“All this going on,” Robert started, sensing the question that hung in the air between them, “I’m not sure how much you know about this country.” He cocked his head a bit, bracing for pushback.

“I’m quite ignorant,” Crowley responded honestly.

“Things have been...” Robert pursed his lips and visibly searched for the right word to use, “unequal... here for quite some time. Since the beginning, if we wanna go all the way back.”

Crowley nodded and continued to listen.

“Sometimes the pressure, just builds up, and people can’t take it anymore,” Robert turned and grabbed a new rag from the back bar.

“Police raided somebody’s little blind pig-“

“A what?” Crowley asked.

“It’s a little, like a place where people get together for drinking, but it’s not registered, or official. Technically it’s against the law,” Robert said.

“Hmm. And let me guess, the law is ‘selectively enforced’?” Crowley’s dry sarcasm came across with the exact intended effect, and he was proud to get a small, if weighted, chuckle out of Robert.

“Yeah. That’s one way to put it. Just trying to have a good time, get through the week, and then the cops come in and arrest everybody. Set the whole thing off.”

Robert continued. “And I get it, I do. But I got a mortgage and a bad back, so,” he threw his hands up. “I’ve just been in here working.”

Crowley sat silent for a moment. He didn’t understand exactly the situation, but he’d seen a lot of horrendous human behavior over the millennia. More than enough for several lifetimes.

“In my...” what was his career exactly? “-line of work, I’ve learned a bit about human nature and there’s, um. I’ve seen a lot of awful stuff humans do to one another, yeah. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, that is, I’m sorry you’ve got to be dealing with this.” For heavens sake, he couldn’t ever stop himself from just fucking babbling like an idiot in moments like these.

Robert nodded and stared into the room for a minute. “Yeah. It’s a mess. A lot of injustice, lot of pain. A lot of people suffering.”

Crowley nodded and drank the last of his soda. He wasn’t sure what to say, but it seemed he didn’t necessarily need to say anything else, so he didn’t, and he watched as Robert got himself a soda, grabbed one for Crowley, and walked out to sit at the bar two stools down from Crowley. He slid the other soda over down to Crowley, and then the only sounds heard for a long while were the fizzing of millions of tiny bubbles and the semi-heavenly music that continued to waft through the bar.

———————————  
Robert broke the lull in conversation as he got off his barstool and walked back around the bar. “That’s James,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the bar’s only other patron. “He plays with the Funk Brothers.”

“The what?”

“All this music you’ve been tapping to this whole time,” Robert said, gesturing to Crowley’s fingers drumming on the countertop, “all that comes from here, from Motown. And that man has played bass on just about every single one of these songs.”

Crowley looked over at the man in the far corner booth just in time to see him attempt to get up and stumble spectacularly to the floor.

“Oh, Lord help me,” Robert muttered as he walked out from behind the bar and over to where James was out cold, face against the linoleum. Crowley noticed Robert moving as though his lower back was bothering him; sure enough, as he went to kneel to check on James, he grabbed his lower back and let out a groan.

Crowley rushed over. “Hey, I can sit him up, I got this,” he said, pushing James to sit upright against the wall.

“Gotta get him to the studio,” Robert trailed off as he wiped the sweat from James’s brow. “They always have work for him there. And once he sobers up, someone can take him home.”

“The studio?”

“The Motown studio, it’s not too far from here,” Robert said, “I’d take him but I’ve got to-“

The words flowed out of Crowley before he could even think about it. “I can do that. Absolutely. Call us a cab and I’ll get him there.”

“You sure? Don’t you have somewhere to be, dressed like that?” Robert gestured to his getup, wrinkle-free as always.

Crowley looked down at his outfit. He’d always been proud to be a snappy dresser.

“Yes, I am...” where did he have to be? “...on my way back to London, actually, but my flight doesn’t leave until 7. Serious. I can get him there. Then I’ll have the cabbie take me where I need to go.”

Robert placed his hand on the phone and kept his eyes on Crowley for a beat as if he was making a decision whether he could trust this stranger. Crowley nodded, and then Robert picked up the phone and called it in.

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Robert popped the phone back on the wall and untangled a kink in the cord.

With Crowley doing most of the work, they got James closer to the door and propped up in a booth. A quick moment after they’d finished their task, the door opened, and a man Crowley assumed was the cabbie walked in.

“Oh, man,” the cabbie groaned to Robert as he saw James slumped over in the table.

“I know, Bill,” Robert said, “but this man, AJ, is gonna get him into the studio. Good luck.” The two men shook hands and then Crowley and Bill got James to his feet and headed towards the door.

“Nice to meet you, AJ,” Robert extended his hand again. “Safe travels home.”

Crowley gave Robert a firm, warm handshake goodbye. “You take care, Robert. And thank you.”

Bill went ahead of Crowley as they got to the door; his cab was parked directly outside. He went and popped open the car door, and the two of them got James’s front half into the car.

Crowley looked back into the bar for a moment at Robert, who was rubbing his lower back and grimacing. It would be a small thing, in the grand scheme of it all, wouldn’t it? Crowley made a snap decision that Robert shouldn’t really have to pay off the rest of his mortgage. It was just so easy to move money around. Only took a moment and it was done; plus, with all the corruption already present at the police department, they didn’t even notice the missing twenty grand. Child’s play, really.

Now for the challenging part. James was halfway in the cab, feet hanging out the door, and Bill did not look too happy. Made sense really, no one wants to clean up vomit if it’s not part of their job description. Crowley needed to sober him up, but so far in his existence, he’d only encouraged humans to get more drunk. Would his usual way of doing it work on a human? He missed Aziraphale, of course, and in the moment, Crowley really wished he could call in a favor.

“James, mate, you gotta get-“ Crowley pushed his feet up into the car a bit “-you gotta bend your knees and get in the cab,” he said, shoving his legs over and climbing in the backseat.

“All right, we’re all in. And if you could take me to the airport afterwards, I’d be quite grateful,” Crowley conjured up some paper currency he’d never seen before and tossed it up front. “Sorry about the, uh, drunkenness.” Bill’s eyebrows shot up at the amount of currency. Good; he deserved it. They turned around outside the bar and headed to the main road.

Okay. Time to try this. Crowley closed his eyes and said a pray- nope. It wasn’t a prayer. He was just going to close his eyes and ask a friend for a favor. The cab rolled down the street and Crowley attempted to send up a flare.

“Aziraphale, old friend, if you can hear me, or sense me, or even just think about me for a quick moment here, I’m trying to do the right thing and I could use uh, I could use a bit of help.”

It’s not a prayer. Just asking a friend for a favor. Crowley put his hands on James’s legs as they were splayed over him in the cab and concentrated on sobering him up. He felt something starting to move, but he wasn't sure if it was working like normal.

“Here’s the spot.” The cabbie stopped in front of a building labeled “Hitsville, USA.”

“Thanks, mate. Can you just wait here for me? I’ll only be a moment.” Bill nodded and put the car in park.

Crowley opened the door and stood up. Oof, he felt woozy but not quite drunk. It was a good thing he’d sobered himself up before trying to do this, as it seemed he’d absorbed much of James’s alcohol intake.

“You’re lucky I learned to hold my booze long before you were born,” Crowley muttered, helping James out of the cab on the other side.

“What’d you say, man?” James shot back as Crowley steadied him and helped him walk up the sidewalk to the studio. “You seem like you’re a helluva a lot more drunk than me!” Since it was only twenty minutes ago that James wasn’t speaking or moving, Crowley was going to count this as a success, perhaps even a minor miracle.

The walk to the door labeled “Studio A” was far more difficult for Crowley than for James, who bounded up the stairs and through a blue door. Crowley went to follow James in and walked into a room full of musicians. He stopped just after he’d set foot in the door. There was so much to take in; Crowley had never before been inside a space where music was recorded. It felt similar to being on consecrated ground, except without the burning. He looked back at the musicians.

“Right, sorry to interrupt,” he stammered. “Robert sent me, uh, to make sure James got here.” Crowley was met with silence and stares.

“James!” a voice yelled from somewhere, possibly one of the booths in the back section of the studio.

“I don’t remember that!” James shot back as he rummaged through some instrument cases on the wall. He set a few aside before finding his and opening it up to reveal a bass guitar. He headed to an empty seat in the room, clearly his, and shook his head at the eye rolling directed his way.

“Come on, I didn’t have that much to drink, I barely feel it,” James said, sitting down and plugging a cable into his bass.

“You ‘didn’t have that much’ but you don’t remember getting here?” a guitar player questioned.

“Don’t be a jackass,” James muttered as he plunked out a few notes and adjusted the amp next to his seat.

“Right well, I’ll be going then,” Crowley awkwardly backed up to go out the door. He really didn’t want to leave, but it was clear it was expected; he’d interrupted their work enough as it was.

“Hey!” James yelled at him. Crowley froze.

“I forget your name, but thanks for getting me here,” James said as he lit a cigarette.

“No trouble at all, name’s AJ,” Crowley responded kindly, then headed out the way he came.

Crowley was walking back towards the cab when he heard the start of a soaring melody he couldn’t ignore. He stood on the sidewalk for just a moment, soaking in the magical warm sounds coming from this small little building. He wanted to be inside more than he’d wanted almost anything in his entire existence.

A brief, polite honk from the cab snapped him back to the present, and he strutted down the sidewalk in time with the music.

As Bill started their trip to the airport, Crowley leaned forward and asked, “The music they make in there, is it on the radio?”

Bill laughed a bit, “Oh yeah, it’s all over the radio. And not just here, everywhere.” He sat up straighter in the driver’s seat.

“Would you mind putting some on?”

Bill nodded, clicked the radio on, and the car was flooded with the sounds of Motown. Crowley closed his eyes and imagined himself inside the songs until a sudden stop made him look up. He was genuinely shocked and disappointed to realize he’d completely zoned out to the music and they’d arrived at the airport.

“Thank you for the ride,” he said, hopping out of the car with no luggage. Bill gave him a friendly wave and took off. Crowley waited until he’d gone, walked around a corner, and transported back to London. From what he’d heard, air travel was dreadful.  
————————————————-

Crowley jolted against the window just in time to hear the stewardess ask him to prepare for landing. He swiped a bit of drool off his chin (sometimes, he really did think he was trying to blend in too much) and looked down to see the unmistakable lights of London. Thank the gods above and below he was about to be home. It was true that demons didn’t need to sleep; it was also true that trying to rest with your neck smashed at an odd angle against a glass window would make anyone long for a horizontal plush bed, the type that awaited Crowley in his flat.

As the plane braked down the runway, the couple in 2A and B picked up their row right where they’d left off. Crowley rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh. Just a few more moments. All he had to do was walk off this plane and he could magically transport himself home. He really, really, really hoped he could keep doing this work in the future without having to be on a fucking miserable plane. Was air travel one of his side’s inventions? Might as well be...

Blessedly, the plane finally arrived at the gate, and Crowley was thankful to be in first class, the main benefit being “first” off the plane. He deliberately bumped into the couple from 2A and B on his way into the main terminal. Another human misery he didn’t understand. Why spend most of your time around someone you didn’t even like? Seemed most relationships he observed were that exact dynamic. He shimmied his way into a secluded service hallway and snapped his fingers.

Crowley was finally, thank fuck, back in his flat; he stretched his arms over his head and let out a loud “Uunnnnnnggghhhh” sound. He kicked off his boots and slung his jacket on the sofa. Then he heard the familiar rustle of his plants trembling in the other room.

“Lucky for you lot, I’m far too tired to deal with you currently. Back to sleep with you,” he called down the hallway. Crowley looked at the clock. 3:30am.

He picked up the phone and dialed the only other being he knew would be awake at this hour.

“Hello?” Aziraphale’s voice on the other end of the line warmed him from the inside out, as always.

“Hello, Angel,” Crowley said, leaning into the phone as though Aziraphale was with him, speaking directly into his ear, warm breath dancing over his skin.

“Crowley! I had a feeling that was you, but one can’t just go round answering the phone that way.” Was that a touch of glee in Aziraphale’s voice?

“I surely hope no one’s calling you on the regular at 3:30 in the morning about any of your dusty old books,” Crowley aimed for snark and missed it by a mile; the primary emotion being conveyed in his tone was fondness and he knew it.

Aziraphale chuckled. Heavens, how he’d missed that sweet sound. “No, Crowley, thankfully not.”

“Listen, I just got back from a-“ what had he gotten back from? “A work thing, and I wanted to see if you might want to dine with me tomorrow.” Crowley braced himself for certain rejection, but he had to ask. There was a beat of silence; a small ruffle of pages on the other end of the line, and then:

“I would quite enjoy that,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Weather’s supposed to be nice,” Crowley blurted out, implying he’d make sure it was nice, “how about a picnic in the park?”

“That would be lovely, Crowley. Shall we meet at the usual spot?”

“The usual spot, Angel. 1pm work for you?”

“I will see you-“ Aziraphale responded with the specific tone of voice and the exact same cadence he reserved exclusively for happily agreeing to plans with Crowley “-there.” The final word always landed as punctuation, a period, a finished scrawl of concrete plans on a paper calendar. It was so tender, so familiar, that it literally made Crowley’s chest swell with emotion.

“Until tomorrow,” Crowley drawled as he set the phone back on its cradle. He danced back over to the sofa and flopped down. No use getting into bed at this point; he closed his eyes and sunk into a deep sleep on the sofa with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening: 
> 
> “Your Precious Love,” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, is the song Crowley hears in the booth. Sadly, Tammi died of a brain tumor when she was only 24 :( her duets with Marvin Gaye are legendary and considered by many to be a golden standard for R&B duets. 
> 
> https://www.npr.org/2011/01/06/132685111/tammi-terrell-remembering-motowns-lost-star
> 
>  
> 
> This is based off a well documented story about James Jamerson, legendary Motown bassist. 
> 
>  
> 
> A quote from the link below:  
> “While recording Marvin Gaye’s seminal “What’s Happening Brother,” Jamerson was dragged to a recording session from a local blues bar, wasted drunk. Lying on his back, on the floor, he proceeded to deliver an unrivaled masterpiece of low-end love. As James famously said, in a (debatably) different context, “The dirt keeps the funk.””
> 
>  
> 
> https://www.ozy.com/performance/james-jamerson-forgotten-motown-bassist/32961
> 
> Also forgot to add the main footnote, which is that this is based on the timeline of the Detroit riots of 1967, which took place after police raided a neighborhood underground drinking establishment (a blind pig), people were welcoming a few men home from military service and the police arrested many people at the venue. It kicked off a riot in Detroit. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1967_Detroit_riot
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting. I promise we will eventually get to all the delicious Aziraphale/Crowley stuff I have written for you.


	5. It's Going To Take Some Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale finally have their picnic in the park, even if it's slightly awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for continuing to read :) I have had to deal with a lot of family stuff this week and I got super, super sick. The next chapter is about half done already, so I'm going to try to get on a posting schedule soon, as this seems like it gets longer every day. I briefly discuss Karen Carpenter's struggle with anorexia in the end notes of this chapter, so mind that if you don't want to read about it. Thank you <3

It’s Going To Take Some Time

The next day  
St. James’s Park  
London

 

Crowley had stopped at six separate purveyors of fine food and drink before finally making his way to the edge of the park. After the fourth stop, he’d broken down and bought one of those black wire carts little old ladies use for groceries. He had four types of olives, six varieties of cheese, spring water, plenty of fruits, including some miraculously in-season pears, and there was some - wait, surely there was some...

“Fuck! I forgot to get the bread, bloody fucking hell,” Crowley stomped in the middle of the sidewalk so hard a few sparks shot out from under his heel. Okay, that wasn’t going to help the situation. He’d seen a basic shop a block or so back; at least he’d realized before he’d gotten all the way into the park and to their usual spot in front of the ducks. Most of the bread would serve as a vehicle for the fancy dips and the good Belgian butter with the sea salt inside it, but you can’t feed the ducks in the same spot for hundreds of years and not bring bread. They’d forgotten once, only once, in their entire history of meeting here; the consequences had been so severe they didn’t wish to experience them again. Aziraphale had lost one of his favorite hats in the tussle and refused to let Crowley forget about it.

Crowley flipped the cart around in a quick circle and headed back to get the bread. He had just enough time to get it all sorted, since he’d uncharacteristically allowed himself an hour to spare. It wasn't long before he was inside yet another store selling food items, his seventh of the day. Crowley huffed a bit as he tried to maneuver his cart past a few shoppers blocking an aisle. He ended up running the wheel of the cart over someone's toes when his third “excuse me” didn't get through.

He drifted closer to a speaker, which conveniently happened to be close to the bread selection. Something soft and piano driven was playing over the airwaves. Crowley rolled his eyes and thought of the last time he’d been stuck in an elevator. ‘Too much soft music,’ he thought, as he dug through a shelf of bread to find a loaf of ciabatta and a baguette. Then a few lines from the song broke through and snapped him to attention:

_After all the tears we've spent_  
_How could we make amends?_  
_So, it's one more round for experience_  
_And I'm on the road again_

This sounded like something Aziraphale would like. Lots of choir-like harmonies, stacked into “oohs” and “aahs”. A gentle female voice was singing perfectly in pitch (Crowley was getting much better at noticing these little details) Maybe he was getting soft with time, or unresolved eternal emotions. Or maybe his time logged on his new “job” was giving him new appreciation for many different genres of music. Whatever this was, it was not bad. Crowley let the words and melody wash over him as he stood in front of the bread. He felt his head start to bop, softly, in time with the music. Nothing could be worse than the 14th century, music wise. Crowley shuddered at the memory. All those fucking boring chants. Same four notes over and over for hours on end, bouncing off stone. Thank fuck he would never have to experience that again. He grabbed an extra loaf of marble rye and made his way to the queue.

* * *

  
Crowley made it to the bench at their standard rendezvous point a few minutes before they'd agreed to meet and took a moment to collect himself. His hands were sweating a bit against the metal of the cart’s handle. This would be the first time he’d seen Aziraphale in a while, and certainly the first time they’d arranged to spend time together after the holy water incident. He’d conjured up a sharp outfit and made sure his hair looked good. The styles of the time were changing, so it was a bit less formal than he preferred. But as usual, he pulled it off with a bit of demonic swagger. Another great thing about being eternal; wait a while and your favorite styles make their way back to you at some point.

The only thing that still bothered him about the holy water situation was that it seemed Aziraphale truly couldn’t understand where he was coming from in requesting his ‘insurance.’ As a demon, there’s a lot you can’t tell an angel about the way your people tend to do things. Crowley also couldn’t properly describe, or even discuss, the pain of his Fall and the effects it continued to have on him. He thought he’d been coping perfectly fine (all things considered) until he’d slept through an entire century. There was the pain from the Fall itself, and the added hurt from the fact that it was the singular event, the line, that separated him from Aziraphale. Sometimes it was just too much to handle. Crowley had read a long article about clinical depression a few years back and finally put it all together with other bits of knowledge he’d gleaned through the centuries. He wasn’t human, but he had been living among them for a bloody long time, so it made sense that he’d be able to relate to what appeared to be a condition also afflicting certain occult beings. Would have been helpful information to have in the 1850’s, but whatever. His train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name.

“Crowley!”

And there was Aziraphale, same as ever, lovely rounded form, striding over like a landlocked swan, fully decked out in some prissy white outfit despite the fact they were going to be sitting on a blanket in the grass. Crowley’s heart pounded against his ribs as he stood up to meet his oldest friend, the only love of his entire existence. He adjusted his sunglasses slightly. Aziraphale had only a small bag with him and eyed the large cart full of food and treats Crowley had been dragging around town.

“My goodness, you've brought us a proper feast, haven't you?” Aziraphale said. Oh, Crowley hadn't heard that pleased tone of voice in a while; how he loved it.

“Our first picnic. Had to make it nice,” Crowley said quietly, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile. “Shall we go and find a spot?” he asked as he pulled the cart around and started to head towards the interior of the park.

Aziraphale nodded and they began walking down the path. Crowley switched hands on the cart so he could wipe the sweat off. How embarrassing. He shouldn't be this nervous. 'It's just a meal together,' he thought. 'Done this a thousand times. Had worse disagreements.' They'd had worse disagreements in this very park, not far from where they were currently walking.

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale, who kept switching his bag back and forth between hands and fidgeting at various edges of clothing in that way he did when something was on his mind.

“You alright, Angel?” Perhaps he wasn't the only one who was a bit nervous.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, unconvincingly.

Crowley stopped, took his hand off the cart, and placed it on his hip. “What’s wrong, Angel? Just tell me.” Crowley braced himself, but surely there wasn’t a way this could be worse than the last intense conversation they’d had in 1967.

“Did you… receive my messages?” Aziraphale looked at him shyly.

Crowley stared blankly. “No…? When did you call?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sounded more relieved than disappointed. “It’s nothing, really. Just that I quite liked the gifts you left for me,” the angel said softly, “I left you a message saying as such.”

“Ahh. I think the answering machine has a habit of eating things if they’re on there for too long. I’m sorry I missed it, Angel. But you like the bookmark? Thought it would be helpful.”

“Oh, it’s been quite helpful! I’ve never seen one like it before,” Aziraphale's face lit up again, same familiar light, and he seemed satisfied with Crowley's (honest) answer. Might be for the answering machine to receive a bit of demonic 'encouragement' as the plants did. They started to walk again.

“Spent the day in Philadelphia trying to find you an old book. No luck,” Crowley said as he scanned for a good picnic spot.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, glancing down at his shoes. “That's quite ki-” the angel stopped himself, “I appreciate the effort.”

“Of course,” Crowley replied.

They settled into a comfortable silence as they walked across the grass to a soft, flat spot next to a large Plane tree, which shook a tiny bit as it felt Crowley approaching. “Stop that,” he whispered sternly to the tree's trunk as he pulled a blue blanket out of the cart and laid it on the ground.

* * *

 

“So, what do they have you working on these days?” Crowley asked as he opened the wine Aziraphale had brought, a 1964 Château le Boscq. He poured them each a generous glass.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale delicately finished off a small bite of chocolate. “I haven’t been formally assigned too much work since my attempts at creating a ‘Summer of Love’ went a bit askew.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “That was your work?”

Aziraphale grimaced and nodded. ”My original concept was vastly different from the way it, uh, turned out in the end there.”

“Humans,” Crowley said. “Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take the whole entire mile.” He passed Aziraphale a glass of wine.

“And you? I trust you’re being kept busy?”

“Honestly, not really. Been working on some,” Crowley strung the sentence out to take a sip of wine, “musical projects these days, actually,”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Do tell.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m not sure you’d be into it.”

“I’ve been expanding my horizons recently, you would be proud,” Aziraphale wiggled on the blanket a bit and took a sip of wine with his pinky in the air. “I’d love to hear more about these musical adventures of yours.”

If there was one thing Crowley knew, it was that Aziraphale always got what Aziraphale wanted. Crowley huffed a bit, but his heart wasn’t in the display of annoyance and he could tell Aziraphale knew.

“Well, I guess I’m a record producer now?” Crowley held up his hands. It was true; he guessed and he didn’t actually know. It seemed a “producer” could mean anyone from a musician to someone who ran the board to the people who did what Crowley did: show up in the room, occasionally say something, and then leave. It felt odd to receive any sort of credit or recognition for essentially doing nothing, but Crowley was just rolling with it. It was how most of Hell was run, anyways.

Aziraphale was staring at him with rapt attention, so Crowley unnecessarily cleared his throat and continued.

“I’ve been in the room for a handful of sessions so far, you know, when they’re recording the music. Sometimes I just say stuff, or I’m just there to be a,” he gestured with a half-full wine glass and a bit sloshed over the edge, “presence in the room. I did run the board one time, but that was,” Crowley wiggled his fingers, a long-standing shorthand between the two of them for ‘magic.’

“Run the board? What’s a board?”

“The board, um. It’s a connector, I guess? The music goes from the room onto the tape,” Crowley gestured furiously with his long fingers, trying to explain, “each instrument has a channel into the board, and then it connects to the board, and then out onto the tape.”

Aziraphale still looked like a confused baby rabbit. “Hmm,” he offered, while taking a bite of bread with the good Belgian butter on it, the one where the sea salt appears in little pearls throughout.

“Yeah, it’s complicated,” Crowley said, “if I wasn’t using the ol’ magic for that part I would definitely not be able to run it.”

“What’s it like being in the room when the music is made?” Aziraphale had always, always loved music, even if his tastes differed drastically from Crowley’s. (Their only arguments during the Renaissance had been about music.)

Crowley couldn't stop the smile that was slowly forming on his face. “You know what, Angel? It's... really nice.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, that same angelic smile he'd been smiling for several thousand years, and Crowley felt so good, so at ease. “Really? It's that fun?” Aziraphale looked absolutely giddy.

“It is, yeah, it is that fun. I don't know that I've-” Crowley's voice broke with the weight of the realization, “-that I've enjoyed doing something this much in a long, long time.” He quickly pushed a memory out of his mind, that of his deft hands shaping a galaxy.

“That sounds wonderful, but how is it going over with...” Aziraphale trailed off, and Crowley knew the question he was attempting to ask.

“It's not a formal assignment, it sort of just became a thing. Humans are really into this idea that the devil makes certain music, and of course that's not the case. But the last project I worked on was about fire, and mentioned the devil and even hell once or twice, so they'll probably give me some credit for spreading ‘evil thoughts’ or some rubbish like that,” Crowley took a large gulp of wine and refilled his glass. “Fine by me, I'd rather not do too much work if I can help it.”

“It all sounds so fascinating,” Aziraphale said, carefully brushing a few breadcrumbs off the edge of his mouth.

“It's been that, yeah,” Crowley said, reaching for an olive. “Hope it keeps up. It's certainly not boring.”

They continued enjoying the food, wine, and each other's company until the sun was closer to the horizon than to the top of the sky. Crowley stretched out one of his legs and shook loose a few crumbs.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and spoke hesitantly. “Would you care to uh, accompany me back to the bookshop?”

“Of course,” Crowley said immediately. He stood and offered his hand to Aziraphale to help him up. Aziraphale held his gaze for just a moment before taking his hand, standing up, and brushing a few errant bits of grass from his cream colored trousers. “I didn't drive today; up for a walk?” Crowley asked as he began packing up what was left of their meal and placing it back in the (extremely handy) cart.

“Always,” Aziraphale said as he helped Crowley pack up, gently folding the blanket and placing it atop the cart. “I should really walk this off, besides,” he said, patting his lovely round tummy.

“Stop with that nonsense. You look fine,” the words leapt from Crowley's mouth before he could stop them, and he quickly looked away from Aziraphale, who simply smiled and began walking back towards the path.

* * *

  
They made it back to the bookshop just as the sun sank below the horizon. Aziraphale opened the door with a small kick at the bottom corner and they made their way to their usual spot.

“Let me get some additional refreshments for us,” Aziraphale called out, heading back to his office.

Crowley sat back on the sofa and took off his sunglasses. Then he spotted it. That was new: a large wooden record player console that looked like it had been manufactured this century. And it appeared there were some modern records in the shop, too. He knelt down in front of the console and began thumbing through the stack of records leaning against it. The Partridge Family… The Osmonds… oh heavens, lots and lots of smiling faces on covers… ABBA… Crowley heard Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching and hopped back on the sofa.

Aziraphale didn’t even look at him as he set four bottles of wine on the table. “Checking out my latest musical acquisitions, hmm?”

Crowley swallowed a laugh. “Caught in the act. Nice record player. Looks like it was made this century.”

“Ha ha,” Aziraphale said dryly, opening the first bottle of wine. “You know how fond I am of old things.”

Crowley knew the comment wasn’t directed at him, but nonetheless felt his cheeks go hot, and quickly sucked back a swig of wine.

“How about this new music thing, then? What got you into all this?” he asked.

Aziraphale clasped his hands together and smiled. “Well, if you must know…”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and gestured with his hand, ‘go on.’

“There’s just many sounds of the now that I find myself enjoying. Truly, I haven’t been this fond of popular music since, hmm… perhaps the Baroque period,” Aziraphale bent down to flip through the records and grabbed one.

The memory of a thousand overplucked harpsichord strings came to the front of Crowley’s mind and he cringed. Not as bad as the 14th century but, ugh.

“Yes, I remember. Do you still detest the harpsichord?” Aziraphale asked as he took the record out of its jacket and placed it on the turntable. The cover was simple, a red background with what appeared to be the band’s logo around a white heart. A perfect choice for a being of love.

“I will always regret that. I didn’t realize when I made it that I’d have to be the one listening to it for a couple hundred years,” Crowley said with a look of disgust on his face.

The record needle scratched through the speakers and a woman’s voice began singing over quiet, purposeful piano chords.

“Hmm. She’s got a nice voice,” Crowley said sincerely. It was different than many of the voices he’d been hearing in his sessions; soft, with an unmistakable current of sadness running through it.

“Yes, she does,” Aziraphale nodded. “It gets a bit sad sometimes, though. I tend to skip those ones,” he said, adjusting the needle to the next track. Crowley made a note to remember who this was so he could check out the sad songs.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he watched Aziraphale begin to dance a bit in time to the music, an unfamiliar sliding melodic sound starting the song. And he knew all the words; every single one. Before long, the angel was not just mouthing the words while swaying back and forth, but singing in his full, glorious voice.

“I’m on the top of the world, looking down on creation, and the only explanation I can find...” Aziraphale sang along giddily with the voices and instruments. He’d always had such a lovely voice. It was true that all angels could sing, but it was also true that their voices differed, and Crowley found Aziraphale’s voice to be among the best he’d ever heard. Much of the awful music they’d suffered through together throughout the millennia had been made more bearable by Aziraphale’s rich tenor singing along with or in opposition to it.

“Yeah, yep, I can see why you’re into this,” Crowley groaned as he drained his glass of wine and poured himself another. He was pretending to be annoyed, but he was honestly just enjoying hearing Aziraphale sing and appreciating the fact that they were in the same room together. He found himself tapping a foot along with Aziraphale’s flailing arms until the song faded to an end and one slightly out-of-breath angel finally sat down on the sofa next to Crowley.

“Well, I did play a part in getting the song to the top,” Aziraphale pointed upwards and smiled, “of the charts.”

Crowley cocked his head and looked over. “You’re telling me you performed a miracle… for this? Did that earn you any strongly worded memos?”

“It was just a small favor, hardly even counted as a minor miracle,” Aziraphale huffed. “And for your information, no angry letters. The higher-ups were actually…” he pursed his lips, “mildly pleased with the subject matter, I believe?”

Crowley laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Aziraphale pouted and shook his head. “I needed something small after the whole ‘flower children’ thing got so out of hand. So this was it.”

“Angel, I promise you, my side had nothing to do with corrupting your Summer of Love,” Crowley reassured him.

“Where,” Aziraphale stopped speaking for a moment and looked down into his wine glass. “Where did you get off to that summer?”

“I was not present in any Summer of Love, I’ll tell you that much.” Crowley paused. Oh shit. He didn’t mean to take the conversation to this place, not right now, not when things were going so well between them. “I was in America,” he quickly followed up, “ended up in Detroit after some really awful riots took place. Awful stuff.”

A familiar piano riff came in, and Crowley heard the start of the song he’d heard for the first time earlier in the day, as he was standing in front of the bread. He found himself humming along loosely as he reached for the record sleeve. Who was this? A band apparently called Carpenters. Interesting.

“You know this one?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sort of,” Crowley said, pointing to the song’s name on the back of the sleeve. “Heard it in the shop just today while I was getting the bread.”

“It’s just lovely, isn’t it?” Aziraphale was flushed pink from an evening of drinking and singing and he was sitting so very close to Crowley. The distance between them had grown smaller and smaller throughout the course of the evening, in all aspects, and Crowley noticed a slight tingle on the side of his body closest to Aziraphale. He took a deep breath.

“It sounded like something you would like, Angel. I had to go back for the bread, you know. Got all the way to the park and realized I had forgot it,” Crowley said, leaning in towards Aziraphale a bit. He was feeling his alcohol and the effects of being close to the angel again.

“The bread?! You almost forgot the bread?!” Aziraphale lightly slapped his arm. “Crowley, don't you remember what happened when we forgot, the once, only the once!”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. “Of course I remember, Angel, why do you think I went back for it? Couldn't have you getting attacked again by a flock of angry ducks. I don't know how they even do that. They must talk about it amongst themselves and pass it on through the generations. ‘Watch out for the suspicious pair having surreptitious meetings here every fifty years or so,’” the absurdity of the imagined situation took over and they found themselves doubled over in laughter for a moment.

Aziraphale was still giggling when he finally responded, “I suppose they must.” There was a long beat of silence as Aziraphale looked at Crowley, quickly looked down, and then up into his eyes again. There wasn’t a day where Crowley wasn’t grateful for the cover his sunglasses provided.

“It’s pretty late,” Crowley said, standing up from the sofa. “I’ll let you get back to your work.” He’d gotten his jacket on and was about to head to the door when Aziraphale coughed a bit and spoke.

“It was lovely to see you today, Crowley,” he said.

Crowley turned around to see an angel clasping his hands together and fidgeting with his thumbs.

“It is always lovely to see you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, tipping his head down as if he had a hat to reach for. He turned and walked across the shop floor.

“I, um. I hope we can dine together again soon,” Aziraphale called across the shop, a hint of pleading in his voice.

Crowley paused and turned slightly towards Aziraphale. “That is something I can do, Angel.” He walked down the stairs, snapped himself home, and slept well for the first night in decades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's absolutely my head canon that Aziraphale has a soft spot for a lot of sappy 1970's music, including yes, Carpenters. And bless everyone on the twitter who agrees that Aziraphale absolutely loves ABBA (we'll get more to that later).
> 
> Listening: "A Song For You," "Top of the World," "It's Going To Take Some Time," and "I Won't Last A Day Without You," all by Carpenters. A bit of a shift in the writing mood for this chapter ;)
> 
> Carpenters were a brother/sister duo from Hawthorne, California. The album Aziraphale owns is "A Song For You," released in 1972. I believe a few of their songs charted on the UK's top 100 in 1973 with the release of the compilation "Singles 1969 - 1973."
> 
> While their music was sunny and full of uplifting themes, Karen Carpenter struggled deeply with anorexia during her entire career as a singer, and a drummer. She was the original drummer for Carpenters and her drumming was praised by everyone from Hal Blaine (session drummer) to many music critics. she sadly died of complications from anorexia at the age of only 32. A great (but highly depressing) book about the subject is called "Little Girl Blue." It completely devastated me, but made me even more of a fan of her music. I also highly recommend Karen Carpenter's self titled solo album, which wasn't released until after her death, but showcases some of her incredible vocal work.


	6. Swearin' to God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is called in for another session, this time in New York with none other than Frankie Valli, who's getting ready to release what will be his first disco song. He ends up having an interesting evening with a member of the production team. some angst emergeth. Chapter warning for period-typical homophobia/homophobic slurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wow, I've been stumped. I cannot for the life of me seem to find out where parts of Frankie Valli's “Closeup” album were recorded. I'm guessing it might be a part of Plaza Sound because the album was originally released on the Private Stock label and I can find documentation of other Larry Utttal artists recording there. I know that “My Eyes Adored You” was originally recorded before the Four Seasons got out of their Motown contract, so I'm guessing that was recorded at the Motown Studios LA headquarters as they moved from Detroit to LA in 1972. If anyone has any information out there to correct me on this, please let me know! For crying out loud. I didn't realize when I started writing this that I'd be so invested in all the historic personnel details but HERE WE ARE KIDS. Anyways. Please enjoy and know that if it's driving you bonkers that I don't know the exact studio location on this album, it's also driving me bonkers (upside_down_smile_emoji.jpeg). Please, also dig into the Four Seasons catalog outside of what's in Jersey Boys! There's some absolutely gorgeous stuff in there, including an amazing attempt at a psychedelic album called “The Genuine Imitation Life Gazette” for those into forgotten music that absolutely went over like a lead balloon during its time.

Swearin' to God  
October 1974  
Plaza Sound Studios*  
New York, NY

 

It was an uncharacteristically warm evening in New York, and that one-of-a-kind 'smell of the city' drifted up from the pavement as Crowley cracked his neck and oriented himself. He'd only been here a few times and he remembered he just needed to get to the next corner to see which direction was... west. Okay. He set off walking towards 6th Avenue. The sun was down, but the city was not yet completely dark, and he enjoyed the click of his boots on these wide sidewalks.

When he'd gotten a call from a NYC record producer (who got his name from a friend of a friend of a friend...) asking him if he was available next week to help get a difficult session back on track, Crowley had lied and said it was no problem, as he was already on his way to the city for other business. It was indeed, no problem for him to go, but he was not going to fly. He'd been in a good mood for months and wasn't about to let another shitty, cramped transatlantic flight fuck it up. Since his picnic with Aziraphale three months and two days ago (but who's keeping track?), he'd seen the angel again for another lovely meal, and had finally succeeded in scaring the answering machine to the point where it was no longer destroying messages. Besides, he'd barely heard anything from his side in years. If they decided they needed to find him for some reason, they'd know what to do. 'What...ever,' Crowley heaved a sigh as he saw the bright marquee of Radio City Music Hall come into view. He had been told the entrance was just to the other side, and he was heading to the 8th floor.

He popped in the elevator hoping to hear some Carpenters, but no luck; he rode up to the 8th floor in silence. Crowley strutted down a hallway to a door marked “Plaza Sound” and heard the sounds and vibrations of what sounded like a live session. He followed the gentle “oohs” coming from his left and ended up finding his way to the control room without a problem. Crowley opened the door quietly and walked right in.

A blond man and a brown haired man were sitting in the control room and turned their eyes to him.

“Hello,” Crowley said, “I'm AJ Crowley, I think I'm looking for... Bob.”

Both the men laughed. “Looking for Bob, huh?” said the blond man running the board.

The brown haired man spoke. “Sorry, long standing joke. We're both named Bob, but I'm the one who called you.”

“Oh?” Crowley nodded and stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Well, here I am,” he said, gesturing loosely with his hands, “at your service.”

The music ground to a halt and a string of curses that would make a sailor blush made their way through the microphone. Even Crowley, a literal demon, was a bit surprised by what spilled out of this person's mouth. The singer looked into the control room and tossed his hands up in the air. Besides the profanity, the first thing Crowley noticed was how short this man was.

“What the fuck is this? Why can't anyone get this right? We have one fucking song left to finish and everyone is just fucking around?”

Crowley couldn't stop his eyebrows from shooting up and he quickly looked down at the ground. Best not to inflame the situation further.

“And who is this fucking faggot?” spat the singer as he gestured to Crowley, his mouth partially obscured by the microphone; the sentiment clearly cutting through to the control room. Crowley noticed the almost imperceptible twitch of blond Bob's hand against the chair. He stood up and readjusted his belt over his hips.

“Nice to meet you too,” Crowley said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “My name is AJ.”

“Who the fuck asked you to come in here?”

Blond Bob cut in. “Bob did.”

“I wasn't fucking talking to you,” the singer said. “I know we need to wrap this shit up, I don't see why you called in someone else.”

“Frankie,” said a gentle female voice from a vocal isolation booth.

“Patti!” Frankie held up his hand in a 'stop' motion. “I'm trying to ask a _fucking_ question here.”

Crowley made an exaggerated show of punching the talkback. “Still didn't catch your na-a-me,” he drawled in an exaggerated accent, licking the outer corner of his mouth while staring the singer straight in the eye. If this little shit wanted to play, bring it on; he had nothing on six thousand years of shit assignments straight from Hell.

He tossed the headphones down and stormed into the control room.

“I said who the fuck-” the singer stopped as soon as he stepped through the door and took in Crowley's full height. 'I could kick this guy's ass into next Tuesday without any demonic powers,' Crowley thought as he flashed this tiny, angry man his best mocking smile.

What the hell. Crowley stepped forward to tower over him. He stuck his hand out, “I'm AJ Crowley. From London.”

Brown haired Bob cleared his throat. “He filled in on the Fire session and came highly recommended. We just wanted to... have someone else available on this final track. Just in case.” The exasperation in his voice wasn't concealed at all, not even a bit.

The short man looked him up and down. He took Crowley's hand gruffly and introduced himself, “I'm Frankie.”

Crowley let his wrists go limp as he shook Frankie's hand with the lightest of touches. “Well it's an absolute pleasure to meet you, Frankie. Quite a voice on you.” He cocked a hip out and put his other hand on it.

The extraordinarily short man rolled his eyes. “Somebody get me some water, and then we can try to finish this fucking thing.”

“I'm on it,” Crowley said as he swung his hips and shimmied dramatically towards the door. He would happily conjure up a whole Icelandic spring here in this very studio just in order to keep fucking with Frankie like this. Most fun he'd had in years.

* * *

 

Crowley had taken a moment to conjure up some of that Icelandic spring water when blond Bob came into the hallway, a pained look on his face.

“Hi. I just came out here to look for you,” Bob said softly. “I'm really sorry about that. Frankie can be a bit difficult-”

Crowley cut him off with a wave of his hand, “Yeah that bloke can sing, alright, but he’s a real fucking _cock_ if you ask me.”

“Uh,” Bob choked back a laugh and dug for a diplomatic response, “he's for sure got a temper on him.”

“It's alright mate, I've been called worse,” It was true; Crowley's mind went first to an unfortunate period during the Crusades. He gently elbowed Bob in the arm without spilling any of the conjured water. “Not trying to get you fired, though.”

“Oh, I doubt that will happen,” Bob chuckled.

“Shall we get back in there then?” Crowley tilted his head towards the control room.

Bob slowly dragged his eyes down Crowley's frame, all the way to his boots. A flicker of a familiar awareness took hold somewhere inside of Crowley, and just as quickly, it was gone.

“Yeah, let's get to it,” Bob smiled and held open the door for Crowley. “After you.”

* * *

 

Crowley walked into the live room to hand Frankie his water, and made a last minute decision to throw just a bit of lust into the mix by breathing over it. Maybe that would calm this man down a bit; at this point, Crowley was a bit worried Frankie might have a stroke before the session ended. It seemed he was speeding out ahead of the rest of the musicians and then getting frustrated by it. Perhaps the tempo also needed to come up a touch?

The band started jamming a bit, Frankie was singing along, at a low volume, as were the background singers. It seemed everyone was trying to get out some nerves and reset themselves to try and finish the last song on this project. Crowley found his head bopping along in a familiar motion, his toes tapping despite himself. There was plenty of space in this music, and he couldn't even stay too mad at Frankie with that voice, that voice, soaring over all those notes. He'd been called worse.

 _Swearin' to god_  
_You're mistress of the world and all I am_

“Mmm, tell me, Angel,” Crowley didn't even realize he'd sung along a bit until blond Bob snapped around.

“What did you just say?” he asked sharply.

“Uh, I'm honestly not sure,” this was the truth; Crowley couldn't totally remember what he'd said, but he suspected he'd used the word-

“You said something about an angel? Something like, 'oh, tell me, angel,'?” Bob sang it back to him.

Crowley licked his lip. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Bob punched the talkback. “Hey, can you give that a try after that second verse comes in?” He sang the line again, and the background singers echoed it back to him. “That's beautiful. Okay, I think - let's just roll one more time from the top. And make it a tiny bit faster this time, please-” he snapped several times in a row, perfectly in time, “just a hair faster. Try it. Rolling.”

The drummer clicked off, and the keyboard player came in, an exact touch faster this time. It was a good call to make the song faster. It already sounded more in the groove, more like something you could see yourself dancing to... Crowley remembered watching Aziraphale dance that evening in the bookshop and smiled to himself.

Brown haired Bob addressed Crowley, “That's quite nice. Fits with the theme.”

“Yeah, how'd you come up with all this, “swearin' to God?'” Crowley asked.

Blond Bob answered from the board, “Tell you, I don't honestly remember. Wrote it with Denny in about an hour.”

Crowley hummed. “That's really impressive, mate. Good stuff.”

Brown haired Bob piped up. “You should hear his entire catalog. This man's a genius.”

“Ahhh, stop it,” blond Bob called over his shoulder.

“Oh, tell me, angel,” the background singers came in with Crowley's throwaway line, and he felt a surge of emotion rising from his core. Would this line, about his Angel, remain on this song? For everyone on the whole Earth to hear? The thought thrilled and terrified him. The voices faded out into an instrumental break, and then a gorgeous, soaring key change with plenty of horns. Crowley closed his eyes as Patti came in, clear and purposeful, with her solo and Frankie followed. They were watching each other from two different iso booths and Crowley felt the connection, the cooperation of everyone in the room as the music coalesced and everyone fell into an unmistakable steady rhythm, a groove.

“All right, that's a wrap,” Bob prepared to signal the band to stop, and Crowley hurriedly cut him off.

“No no! I mean, maybe just let them keep rolling?” Crowley said. “They're in such a groove. Can't you see people dancing to this? I can.”

Blond Bob looked up from the board to catch Crowley swaying on the couch. He said nothing, but stood and pointed to the saxophone player, and circled his hands in the motion Crowley had come to recognize as universal for “we're continuing to roll.” Then Bob pointed at the background singers and flashed them a peace sign. They took this loosest of instruction, (perhaps meant to be a number two?), and absolutely rolled with it, piping in with “ooh” and “I love you.” The band then looped around again for Patti and Frankie to swing back in. Frankie was watching the booth for instructions, but still putting his entire all into it. Crowley stood and came closer to the control room window to observe that special “thing” he'd experienced several times now; the absolute magic being created by a bunch of humans with instruments as an errant demon looked on.

“I guess this is the take where we do the long version,” blond Bob said to Crowley. “It feels much better at this tempo, doesn't it?”

Brown haired Bob spoke, “Absolutely.”

Crowley remained quiet until blond Bob nudged him.

“Yeah, I think he needed it to be a bit faster to meet the energy,” God, Crowley hoped he didn't sound like an absolute idiot.

Both Bobs nodded. “Good observation,” said blond Bob.

The energy in the live room had absolutely shifted from the tense atmosphere Crowley had walked into; the musicians were swaying even as they passed the eight and nine minute mark of recording time. Frankie was bopping his head back and forth and making silly faces at Patti to get her to smile and giggle in the opposite iso booth. It seemed fun, loose, nice and easy. Crowley closed his eyes again and thought back to his picnic with Aziraphale. Was he in that deep, that his thoughts during every session always turned to a certain angel? He remembered Aziraphale's face as he sang and danced, the warmth of his body close on the sofa, the way he'd fidgeted and gently requested to dine with Crowley...

The music wound down and was finished off by the background singers modulating along with the strings. As the final notes faded out, everyone in the live room remained quiet until a few seconds of silence had passed. Then Frankie ripped off his headphones and gave a hearty yell of “Yeah!” with his hands in the air. He worked his way from musician to musician, dishing out firm handshakes for the men and gracious kisses on the cheek for the women.

Brown haired Bob shot blond Bob a look. “I think that means he's happy with it.”

“Let's fucking hope so,” blond Bob said under his breath. Crowley suppressed a laugh.

Frankie walked into the live room, wiping the sweat off his brow with the edge of his sleeve. “That was definitely the take.”

“Yep,” / “Absolutely,” both Bobs responded at the same time.

“Gonna get going. Great work today, you two. Never should have doubted you,” Frankie said, pointing to blond Bob, who simply smiled and gave him a fist bump. Frankie then pulled brown haired Bob in for a hug, and Crowley took a small step back. Frankie looked up to where Crowley was leaning against the wall and walked over.

“Listen, I'm behind and I just needed to get this shit done, sorry I was an asshole earlier,” Frankie extended his hand to Crowley.

Crowley had always, _always_ , been so fond of humans who were capable of admitting when they had, in fact, been assholes. To just come out and say it, admit it, and move on, it took strength, really. Why was that so hard for so many people? It had always been something that made him drop his defenses. Crowley smiled.

“No worries, mate,” Crowley shook Frankie's hand, once again towering over the singer. “Tough business to be in. Gets to you.”

“Yeah, that's one fucking way to say it. Good to meet you.” Frankie gave everyone a loose approximation of a salute and walked out of the control room.

Both Bobs immediately relaxed and brown haired Bob spoke first. “Go on, you've been dealing with this shit all day. I'll lock up.”

“Are you sure?” blond Bob shot back.

Crowley thought he saw brown haired Bob shoot him a strange look for a moment, but he missed something.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” brown haired Bob reached a hand out to Crowley. “Thanks for coming in. I'm sorry we didn't end up having too much work for you, but I was sure glad to have you.”

“It's my pleasure, really,” Crowley said sincerely. “Call me anytime, I mean it.”

Blond Bob and brown haired Bob gave each other a quick hug, and then Crowley found himself being loosely herded out the door by blond Bob. He headed back towards the elevator and was a bit surprised to find blond Bob heading in the same direction. They stepped into the elevator and stood in silence for a moment.

“How long are you in town for?” Bob asked.

Crowley shrugged and grinned. “Until I go back to London, I suppose.”

Bob burst into laughter. “Care to join me for a drink?”

Echoes of the feeling from earlier washed over Crowley again; he still couldn't place it. “Sure,” he responded after a moment.

* * *

 

Thankfully, the bar Bob had chosen was only a few blocks away. It wasn't long before they were seated at a small table overlooking the dance floor, blessed drinks in hand. It hadn't been a particularly long session, just felt like it. Crowley noticed Bob staring at him curiously over his drink and he suspected he knew what came next.

“I have to ask,” Bob said, “It's so dark in here, why the shades? Feeling shy?”

Crowley took a sip of whisky and pursed his lips. This wasn't the first time he'd been asked this question, and it wouldn't be the last. It seemed like he was going to be seeing the same people over and over again, so it was time to pick the story he would stick to.

“Afraid it's not just for the effortless cool,” Bob laughed and spilled a bit of his drink on himself. Crowley continued, “My dad developed photos in our basement when I was a baby. Apparently I got into the chemicals one day. Don't remember it at all.”

Bob's face contorted into a frown. “Oh god, I'm so sorry-”

“It's fine, really,” Crowley cut him off. “People ask all the time. I'm fine, I just can't deal with the light. It hurts.”

Bob sucked down a large amount of his drink and then looked over at Crowley. “The shades really do add to the effortless cool.”

Crowley laughed. “All for show, mate, all for show.”

The music in the bar was abruptly cut off and a gentle horn riff drifted through the bar. Bob put his head in his hands and groaned.

“What's going on?” Crowley asked.

A trio of loudly cheering men approached the table and went right to Bob, affectionately putting their arms around his neck, tussling his hair, and gently punching him in the bicep. Bob rolled his eyes and hugged back as best he was able. The song shifted a bit, keys and drums picking up, and a familiar voice crooned:

 _Pardon the way that I stare_  
_There's nothing else to compare_  
_The sight of you leaves me weak_  
_There are no words left to speak_

“Hey, that's Frankie singing there, isn't that?” Crowley asked, waving his fingers in the general direction of the music swirling through the room.

Bob tilted his head down slightly. “Yes,” he said into his drink.

“This guy wrote this fucking song, can you believe it?” a very drunk man slung his arm around Bob's shoulders. “Best songwriter I know!” he shouted directly into Crowley's face. There were more cheers, and suddenly a large amount of alcohol appeared on the table as if conjured there.

“This guy! This GUY!” another drunk man said, and just as quickly, they left, leaving Bob and Crowley alone at the table again with an inordinate amount of booze. Crowley picked up what looked like a whiskey on the rocks and was pleased to discover he was correct.

“You wrote this?” Crowley asked incredulously. He listened to the melody and the arrangement as it built up to a point where Frankie came back in, absolutely singing as if his whole life depended on it:

 _I love you, baby_  
_And if it's quite all right_  
_I need you, baby_  
_To warm the lonely nights_

“Bob,” Crowley leaned over the table and said as softly as the music would allow, “This is absolutely fucking brilliant. It's fucking beautiful, man. You should be really, really proud of yourself.” The music continued to soar and build, horns and tambourine puncutating the sound of Frankie's sharp tenor cutting through the arrangement, but not overpowering it.

Bob looked up at him slowly. “Thank you, AJ. That means a lot.” Crowley looked him over. The lights were too low for him to... Oh. Crowley finally realized what was going on. He was being hit on. That hadn't happened in quite some time. He found himself woefully unprepared for the surge of emotion he felt radiating off of the rather handsome blonde man across the table from him. Crowley grabbed another drink from the center of the table. This one appeared to be, hmm. There was a cherry floating in it. Crowley took a sip. Amaretto sour. Not too bad. The song faded out and into another; a slow, rhythmic groove that seemed in no hurry to go anywhere, to do anything.

“Care to join me?” Bob asked, already moving along with the beat.

“Honestly, not much of a dancer myself,” Crowley responded honestly.

“The way you walk, you expect me to believe you don't dance?” Bob raised an eyebrow at him.

Crowley pulled the cherry out of his glass by the stem and sucked it down. Bob licked his lips; a gesture that was meant to be subconscious, but rendered more forward by the alcohol they'd been throwing back.

“I suppose I could try,” Crowley said hesitantly.

Bob cocked his head in the direction of the dance floor. “Come on then,” he said.

The song was anchored by a simple backbeat and a satisfying bass riff. Crowley watched as Bob established his space on the floor, waving to a few friends across the room. He was smiling; the lights occasionally fell on his blond hair and reflected off his perfect white teeth (Americans all seemed to have such blindingly bright teeth). Bob seemed so at ease in the music, on the dance floor; as if no one else was there, as if no one was watching.

Something snapped loose in Crowley and he let his hips go, for probably the first time ever. Once you spend time as a serpent, there's only so much you can rein in. Crowley felt the weight of his pelvis dictating the motions of his legs and feet; he closed his eyes and let his body move to the beat, the way it wanted to. Why should he feel shame about the way he moved? The dance floor was covered with people, mostly but not exclusively men, in various states of togetherness; Crowley could smell the sweat in the air and feel the warmth radiating off human bodies in motion and the lights slowly making their way across the dance floor. The song carried on, tight harmonies flowing freely over the beat:

 _I know we can make it_  
_I know that we can_  
_I know darn well_  
_We can work it out_

Bob moved a touch closer to Crowley and took his hand, gently. He raised his eyebrows at Crowley and mouthed, “This ok?”

To his surprise, Crowley simply nodded and continued to dance. His hands were sweaty, but Bob didn't seem to care. Crowley caught Bob smiling at him, a comfortable, easy smile.

 _Yes we can_  
_I know we can can_  
_Yes we can can_  
_Oh why can't we, if we wanna?_  
_Yes we can can_

Bob gently pulled Crowley closer, reeling in his long, skinny limbs, and draped one arm gently around his waist. “Still ok?” he said, this time into Crowley's ear. Again, Crowley nodded.

 _I know we can make it work_  
_I know we can make it_  
_If we try_

Crowley brought his arm up around Bob's shoulder and let it stay there. Goodness, he was so warm. They swayed together to the steady beat, bodies entwined but not entirely joined, following one another's movements gently. Crowley was surprised he hadn't stepped on Bob's toes at any point.

 _Oh yes we can_  
_I know we can can_  
_Yes we can_  
_Oh yes we can, I know we can can_

Bob moved a bit closer still to Crowley, and gently ground his hips up against Crowley's. It felt as if the temperature in the room shot up immediately. Crowley was dimly aware of sweat running down his neck down to the edge of his unbuttoned collar. He laid his chin over Bob's shoulder and allowed Bob to wrap both arms around his slender waist. Crowley closed his eyes and let his hips follow Bob's in time to the music. The song built to a loud ending with extra cymbals and vocal improvisation, and Bob spun Crowley around so he could dance out the end of the song holding him, just holding him, and nuzzling his nose into the crook of Crowley's neck. In the brief moment of silence between one song and the next, Crowley pushed away from Bob and fanned himself with his hand.

“I uh,” Crowley hadn't been this truly flustered in centuries. “I'll be back in a moment.” He walked quickly to the back of the bar.

It was true demons didn't need to use the 'facilities' in the same way humans did, but Crowley did need a bit of privacy to cool off, and it was probably a good idea to sober up a touch, so he waited until one of the unmarked single locked doors opened up. Crowley took a moment to will out some alcohol down the drain and splashed a bit of cool water on his face. He had just opened the door when Bob immediately burst in and closed it again, grabbing him by the lapels. He spun Crowley around, pinned him against the door, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him passionately. Crowley leaned into the warmth, the strange mix of sensations. Is this what it felt like to be desired? Was he overheating? What was he supposed to do with his hands? He tentatively brought them to Bob's face and felt the lines of his jaw, the touch of stubble coming in at the end of the day. Bob ran a hand over his chest and Crowley shivered before his brain kicked back in with a thousand anxious thoughts at once – 'I haven't made an Effort' – 'I can't take off these sunglasses' – and most intensely, thoughts of Aziraphale. Was he breaking a code of conduct, a promise between them that had never been explicitly spoken? Had Aziraphale – were they ever going to talk about – was there even a remote possibility he could be doing this with his Angel sometime before the end of the world?

“I need,” Crowley pulled back and held his hand up, “I'm sorry, I...” his chest was heaving and he couldn't even finish a sentence.

“Oh god,” Bob said. “I'm so sorry, AJ. Did I read this wrong? I thought, oh God, I'm so sorry-”

Crowley raised a hand to Bob's face to cut him off. “No, no, I'm. It's just...” Crowley felt like he might cry right here, with his back against the wall of a bathroom door in a dive bar. He sucked in a breath and slowly pulled himself together.

“What is it?” Bob moved his hand to Crowley's shoulder, rubbing gently back and forth.

“It's just, there's someone,” Crowley didn't even know what else to say. That was the thread tying everything together at the moment.

“I see,” Bob looked down and took his hand from where it rested on Crowley's shoulder. “You could have just said something earlier,” he said, with an unexpectedly soft delivery; Crowley felt he deserved to be reprimanded. Surely his actions deserved more anger, more bite, more sting, but it just wasn't there. He looked at Bob and saw only compassion and kindness in his eyes, and that was what undid him.

“I-” Crowley finally broke down from the weight of a couple thousand years of unspoken emotions. He smashed his face into Bob's shoulder as he choked out a sob.

“Shh,” Bob ran one hand gently over Crowley's hair and the other over his shoulder blades. “I'm sorry, AJ, I really am.”

Crowley felt like he couldn't breathe, even though he technically didn't ever need to breathe. His chest hurt, it burned. Bob stroked over his shoulder blades again and Crowley flashed back to the memory of his Fall, his wings catching fire as he plunged downwards, downwards... he gasped and jerked his head up.

“Hey,” Bob looked at him with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call you a cab?”

“No, really, I'll be fine.”

Bob chuckled a bit. “Should we maybe head back to the table then?”

Crowley laughed a bit, despite his current emotional state. “Yeah, I reckon it would be a lot nicer to carry on, uh, not in the loo.”

Bob opened the door. “I could use another drink, if I'm honest,” Crowley muttered, to himself mostly.

“Got it covered,” Bob said.

 

* * *

 

Crowley stared intently into his whisky and tried not to think about the fact that he'd just cried onto a stranger's shoulder, while they were locked in the loo, no less.

“Listen, I'm really sorry about all this. If you can't tell, I'm an absolute fucking disaster,” Crowley said.

Bob chuckled. “I think that's par for the course. For us, anyways.”

Crowley cocked his head. “I'm sorry?”

“You _are_ gay, right?” Bob asked.

Crowley had never really thought about the fact that he most often presented in a body best described as “male” and the accompanying fact that he was deeply in love with an ethereal being who also presented in a form perceived as male. He'd lived through so many shifts in human society that he'd taken it all for granted. Crowley couldn't honestly say for sure if he was “gay” in the way this human seated before him was defining the word. But was it about his experience alone? There weren't too many demons or angels allowed out here. If he was living down here among the humans, shouldn't he make an attempt to understand things from their perspective, also?

“I guess you could say that. I've never had any experience with anyone other than...” he trailed off. The most “experience” he had was in the bathroom a half hour ago. He hadn't ever done anything with Aziraphale, except in his mind. For all the tempting and enticing he'd done over the years, Crowley had just never been into the idea of exploring that with humans, until perhaps something shook loose tonight. There was really only one being he wished to be with in the way he'd heard it described over the centuries.

“So he's really quite important to you, then,” Bob said gently.

“Yeah, he's my whole world,” Crowley said, “but I'm not sure he knows it.”

“Wait – is he _straight_?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows as a vision of Aziraphale, dressed in a white and gold brocade waistcoat and blue paisley, wiggling in his seat with excitement over the wine list during the last time they'd had dinner. Mmm...

“Oh no. He's definitely... not straight.”

Bob laughed. “Well thank god for that! It sounds... complicated though.”

Crowley nodded, “That is one way to say it.”

“Listen, AJ, I can't tell you what to do about your fellow. But there are plenty of wonderful people out there; just like you, just like me, and it can be hard, but somehow we always find each other.”

Crowley finished the last of his whisky. He had no idea what to say, so he just nodded.

“Come on,” Bob said, getting up from the table and offering Crowley his hand, “let me call you a cab.”

Bob gently put his arm around Crowley and walked him to the door. “Oh, we forgot your jacket,” he said, rushing back to the table to grab it from where Crowley had been seated. “Wait for me outside, I'll have the bartender call it in,” Bob said, placing the garment into Crowley's hands.

Crowley shook his head a bit and walked out into the night. It had cooled considerably since they'd gone inside and the breeze felt refreshing as it slipped up under his sunglasses and against his puffy eyes. How humiliating. Some demon he was, crying on a stranger's shoulder over an _angel_ , of all things. Why had anyone even asked him to be here tonight? What did he have to offer to anyone?

“AJ,” Bob popped out of the bar, “Just wanted to say goodbye to you before you get on your way.”

“I'm sorry, I just, why are you being so kind about all this? I don't deserve this,” Crowley blurted out as he made a spectacular fool of himself trying to wriggle back into his leather jacket.

Bob grabbed the back of his jacket and held it back so Crowley could reach one slender arm at a time into the sleeves of the jacket and pull it back on. A yellow cab pulled up to the curb.

“Nonsense. Everybody deserves a little kindness every now and again. Plus, you're cute, with that cherry red hair and all,” he gently tousled Crowley's hair a bit.

All Crowley could do was stare in disbelief as Bob leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “You take care, AJ.”

A surge of fondness, kindness, and assorted emotions Crowley had always classified as either "angelic" or “human” and therefore, out of his range, overcame him, and he gently placed a hand on the nape of Bob's neck. He pressed a firm but chaste kiss to Bob's cheek. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“Can't promise I won't bother you next time I'm in London,” Bob called out as Crowley began walking to his cab.

“Fine by me,” Crowley muttered back over his shoulder. He stepped inside the cab and folded up his long legs inside. Now to figure out where he was going...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be coming back to edit these end notes soon! I'm so tired lol. 
> 
> Listening: "My Eyes Adored You," "Swearin' To God," and "Can't Take My Eyes Off You," all by Frankie Valli or with the Four Seasons.  
> "Yes We Can Can," by the Pointer Sisters
> 
> The album they're working on is Frankie Valli's "Closer," they had to purchase back the song "My Eyes Adored You" from their Motown contract. The song went on to become a #1 hit for Valli. 
> 
> Bob Crewe was eventually out as a bisexual, when he passed away in 2014, many people said he would identify as a gay man today. I'm not totally sure. But here's an article about it.
> 
> https://www.wisconsingazette.com/entertainment/stage/back-story-the-gay-backstage-story-of-jersey-boys/article_21045f53-2ffb-557b-be42-11517b13d3fd.html
> 
> The references to cherries come from this disco-era Bob Crewe production. the first song is called "Cherry Boy" and it sounded like it could be about our favorite red-haired demon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sS3ni1JrviE


	7. I Believe In Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is many peoples' head canon that Aziraphale is a huge ABBA fan, mine as well. Thank you to everyone sharing their ABBA/Aziraphale stories everywhere. There will be so much more of ABBA/Aziraphale to come, I promise. A special record arrives to the bookshop, and Crowley heads in to his first London session.
> 
> Also, ack! Sorry, had to fix something at the end here. Looking for anyone who'd be down to be a beta reader if that is your cup of tea. Let me know :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep these chapters to about 2-3k words each moving forward so I can finish them faster! <3 thanks to everyone who's following along! appreciate your support!

early May 1975  
the bookstore  
London

 

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk when he heard a loud rapping on the door. He huffed and pulled himself away from the 14th century astrology text he'd just acquired.

“We're closed today,” he called out as he approached the door.

“Delivery,” came a muffled voice through the window. A delivery man stood at the door with a square package. It wasn't particularly small, but it was rather flat, what could it –

“Oh!” Aziraphale cried out in excitement and opened the door. “I'm terribly sorry, I didn't anticipate this coming today.”

“Just need a signature,” the delivery man extended his clipboard to Aziraphale for him to sign.

Aziraphale signed in a flourish and happily took the package. “Have a wonderful day,” he said to the delivery man with the power of a benediction.

* * *

 

Aziraphale grabbed his favorite antique letter opener and made quick work of the outer packaging. It hadn't been wrapped up too tightly since it had just been sent from across town. He pulled out the record he'd been waiting for: ABBA's new release, self-titled. Aziraphale grinned as he looked over the cover; the band tightly packed into the back seat of a car, champagne glasses in their hands.

“Eeeeeee!” Aziraphale let out a squee of joy, opened the outer cellophane, and carefully pulled the record out. He gazed upon the treasure in his hands for a moment before heading to the console. His anticipation built as he gently laid the needle down on the edge of the record.

Pizzicato strings and keys opened up the first song with a dramatic flourish, and it wasn't long before Aziraphale was gently bopping his head back and forth in time to the music. He watched, wide-eyed, as the record spun round, as though he might be able to witness a visual element of the music swirling around him.

_I've been cheated by you since I don't know when_  
_So I made up my mind it must come to an end_

“Ohhh,” his voice quivered, “thank you for this blessing,” he murmured as he closed his eyes reverently, bowing with his hands clasped before the turntable.

_Look at me now, will I ever learn?_  
_I don't know how, but I suddenly lose control_  
_There's a fire within my soul_

He ran his hands down his face and let out a breath. He hummed a bit, softly and in tune, over the words he didn't yet know.

_Just one look and I can hear a bell ring_  
_One more look and I forget everything_  
_Whoa-oh_

Aziraphale was grinning with joy as he bopped back and forth in front of the record console in what could charitably be described as an attempt at a step-touch (he was making an effort), absorbing the soundscape and listening very intently to the lyrics. He had just caught the beat when the entire rhythm section dropped out and the harmonies he loved so much finally made an appearance:

_Mamma mia_  
_Here I go again_  
_My my, how can I resist you?_

He let out a celestially-pitched excited sound and tossed his hands towards the sky, simply wiggling his whole body back and forth until the rhythm section came back in. Oh my, was he ever feeling good. This might be one of the best days of his existence.

_Mamma mia_  
_does it show again,_  
_Just how much I've missed you?_

“Oh heavens, I absolutely love it,” Aziraphale said, breathlessly, to himself. “Maybe I am up to finishing inventory today.”

 

* * *

 

the same day  
Morgan Studios  
across town  
London

Crowley had been in this session all day and was frankly, sick of it; he'd only gone because it was in London and he had been bored when he'd agreed to go. Some friend of Bob’s had given him a call a few days ago and asked if he’d drop in. Apparently, he'd been getting a reputation for helping finish things out. It wasn't that the session was difficult, there was just nothing for him to do. All the final tracks were already done, so the lead vocalist, Errol, was the only person present in the studio. There was also an incredible producer, Mickie, behind the board. Crowley had taken the day before to familiarize himself with some of Mickie’s work, only to discover that he'd been a fan of much of it for a long time. He had picked up the Hermit's Hermits debut album back in his SoHo days strictly for one song (Walkin' With My Angel; he hadn't even heard the song before he decided he was going to love it), but had been pleasantly surprised to discover a few other favorites on there. Crowley hated to admit it, but he was fond of their bigger hits, too. Yes, including the cheesy big radio hit, the one about the hush falling over the land.

Crowley had tossed on that same album again last night, listening with new ears to an old favorite:

_I told you once before, and I'll tell you once again_  
_Don't try to hurt me, or you'll pay_

A lovesick, pining demon needed some outlets to deal with centuries of repressed emotion; Crowley had enjoyed his artistic adventures during the Renaissance, and he had certainly found physical activity to be a great option in the earlier days, but nothing did it for him quite like music, especially since the 1950s or so. He felt lucky to exist at a time when he could walk into a store, buy a record, and have it for himself. Music had been such a public affair for so long; it had always been difficult for Crowley to experience all the emotions brought about by music during the days when the only option to hear it was to be out and about, surrounded by people. Not to mention that he and Aziraphale had gone to thousands of concerts together over the years. It all changed when he acquired his first radio in the 1940s; he’d loved the shift when music became a thing he could experience in private, alone, on his own time. No one to witness his crashing waves of emotions; no one to judge him for buying a single called “Earth Angel” and listening to it until it broke.

The time he'd been spending listening to music in a different way, from behind the board, was affecting what he heard now. Details that used to pass him by made themselves known; Crowley found himself more aware than ever of production choices, the variance between human voices, the nuance in dynamic shifts between soft and loud...

The sound of the control room door opening snapped Crowley out of his wandering thoughts, and he sat up on the edge of the sofa. Errol strolled back into the room and sat down next to Crowley on the sofa. He was a dramatic looking man, tall with a bold mustache, although he’d shaved his head. He was dressed in a vertical striped suit with warm undertones of mustard and burgundy that complemented his brown skin.

“What do we think, lads?” Errol asked as Mickie started the playback.

“Let’s take a listen,” Mickie said.

_I believe in miracles_  
_Where you from, you sexy thing?_

Crowley cocked his head. He really hadn't been paying much attention to the lyrics. This was... interesting.

Mickie spoke up after the first verse. “I think it's fine.” He didn't sound pleased or displeased, just pleasantly neutral.

Crowley finally tuned into the lyrics and listened intently. A whole song about miracles, and love, and not a mention of-

“Why did you say 'baby' again at the start of the second verse?” Crowley asked.

“That's what it is,” Errol responded.

“And then you go on about 'everything I prayed for'?”

Errol stared at Crowley. “What are you getting at?”

“What if,” Crowley turned to face Errol, “it was 'angel' instead.”

“What?”

Crowley tossed his hands in the air. “You just said ‘baby’ the first time. You can’t repeat it again.”

“Why not?”

“Just try it. Where did you come from, _angel_ ,” Crowley emphasizes the last word.

“The line is ‘where did you come from, baby,’” Errol said, mocking Crowley's hand gestures back to him. He looked at Mickie, who was scratching the back of his head and eyeing the clock.

“But why would you say ‘baby’ and then ‘baby’ again? That’s... boring.”

There was a beat of silence as Errol stared blankly at him. Crowley groaned and stood up.

“Haven't you spent this whole song talking about miracles?”

“Yeah,” Errol rolled his eyes.

“Okay, but who performs miracles? Do babies perform miracles?” Crowley asked.

“Uhh... no,” Errol furrowed his brow. “Saints?”

“No!” Crowley slapped his hand down on the console. Mickie flinched a bit.

“Saints don’t perform miracles. _Angels_ perform miracles,” Crowley said, gesturing dramatically again with his long fingers.

There was a long pause and Errol was looking at him in a way that made Crowley wonder if he'd actually sprouted horns after all these years. “Mate, how the _fuck_ would you know that? What are you on about?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” Mickie chimed in, “Just try it. It's a small point, but he's got a point.”

“Fine. But this is the last take,” Errol walked back into the isolation booth.

“Understood,” Mickie said through the talkback. He got the track cued up and gave Errol the ‘rolling’ sign. And just before he came in, Crowley decided to make sure that this would be “The Take,” and sent a burst of energy into the room to Errol.

He soared through the intro and first verse with a swagger not heard on the other takes. Mickie raised his eyebrows and nodded as he made a minute adjustment to the input volume. Each vocal line sounded better than the last, and finally it was time for the change Crowley wanted to try.

_Where did you come from, angel?_

Errol distorted his face with annoyance and stared directly into the control room as he dramatically screeched out the word, extending it well past where it should have ended. The thing was, it worked.

Mickie turned to Crowley and tilted his chin up slightly.

“I like it,” was all he said.

Crowley and Mickie both gave Errol the thumbs-up from inside the control room. The next time he had a moment’s rest, Crowley could see a grin on Errol’s face, his shoulders shaking with laughter. He ad-libbed beautifully through the end of the song, “keep on lovin’ me, baby” being another new addition for this final take. Crowley had the start of a smile on his face by the time the music ended and Errol stepped out of the iso booth and back into the control room.

“You're crazy, man,” Errol came out and slapped Crowley on the back.

Crowley didn't know what to do, so he stood still.

“You just made me laugh in there,” Errol bent down and put his hands on his knees and laughed a bit more. “What a crazy talk, thinking about angels and all of that, are you religious or something, man?”

“Uh, nope. Definitely not,” Crowley responded flatly and with a completely straight face, which only made Errol laugh harder, which in turn eventually cracked Mickie up, and then before Crowley knew it, he was laughing and he couldn't stop.

“Why are we laughing?” Crowley asked after a moment, which only made everyone laugh harder. After a few moments, everyone came down from the giggles. Crowley's sides and face hurt a bit, but he felt a familiar warmth rising up within him, the one he always seemed to get at some point in the studio. Every session was different, but the feelings remained the same. He smiled at Errol, and at Mickie.

“Thanks for having me in today, lads,” Crowley said, shaking Errol's hand first, then Mickie's.

“Anytime,” Mickie said. “Hope it wasn't too boring for you.”

“This guy, boring?” Errol motioned to Crowley. “Never. He's on another level, this guy.”

Crowley smiled and looked down at his boots. “Pleasure working with you.”

As he made his way out of the studio, Crowley decided he wanted to make the song a hit. He'd not interfered with the charts yet, but how difficult could it be? He took the long way home and pondered the possibilities.

 

* * *

 

Crowley arrived home and spent a bit of time 'talking' to his plants before making his way to sit down at his desk. He stared at his phone for a good twenty minutes before taking a deep breath and dialing the bookshop.

“Hello?”

Crowley wasn't expecting to hear so much noise on the other end of the line and yanked the phone away from his ear. “Aziraphale? Are you alright over there?”

“One moment.” Crowley heard a distinct sound he recognized as Aziraphale setting the phone down on the table a few seconds later it went quiet.

“Ah, hello, Crowley. Is that better?”

“Yes, I can hear you now,” Crowley said. “What are you up to?”

“Well. Something special arrived for me today. A new record,” Aziraphale sounded absolutely gleeful. Crowley smiled, safe in the knowledge no one could see it.

“Oh, really? What record arrived for you?”

“It's the new ABBA. I absolutely love it, it's just marvelous,” Aziraphale gushed.

Crowley's smile grew bigger. “Is it, now?”

“Indeed. I've been listening to it all day long. I finished doing inventory!”

“Wow...” Crowley drawled it out. Why had he called, again? He'd already forgotten... He heard Aziraphale clear his throat delicately.

“If you'd like, you could,” Aziraphale paused, “come over and give it a listen.”

Crowley felt a flutter in his chest. “I would like. Can I bring anything?”

“Ah, that won't be necessary,” Aziraphale said, “I have plenty of alcohol.”

Crowley laughed. “All right, Angel. I'll be there soon.” He hung up the phone and ran his hands absentmindedly over his trousers. He had enjoyed so much music with Aziraphale over the years, but this was the first time they had scheduled a... (made a date?) just to listen to music together, in private. Crowley felt he should also bring a record with him; it seemed like the considerate thing to do. He walked over to his console and dug through a few stacks of records until he found it: Black & Blue. Crowley remembered being in the room when Teddy had been singing his heart out, and he felt a surge of pride in the small contribution he'd made to this album. He wiped the sweat from his hands, put the record under his arm, and walked out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music producer Crowley is "working" with today is Mickie Most, who produced a varied amount of music in the UK. They're working on the song "You Sexy Thing," which ended up being a huge hit for Hot Chocolate. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_Chocolate_(band)
> 
> The song Crowley's listening to is "Don't Try To Hurt Me" by Herman's Hermits: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9YW4qv6m6Y
> 
> In the UK, Herman's Hermits were one of the only artists to challenge the Beatles in terms of popularity and airplay during their heyday. I like the idea of Crowley needing to take a break from what was popular. ;)
> 
> Earth Angel was originally released by the Penguins: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJcGi4-n_Yw


	8. I Hope That We Can Be Together Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley are finally starting to talk a little bit about the whole Holy Water incident. A little bit. There's just... so much there. *cries softly*

The Bookshop  
London

 

Crowley almost always drove the Bentley right up to the bookshop, but today he parked a few blocks away. He stepped out of the car and adjusted his trousers, his jacket, and his tie. He had stopped to get a bit of chocolate on the way; nothing too large, just a small box of truffles from one of Aziraphale's favorite chocolatiers. Crowley gathered everything from the car and snapped his fingers to lock it up. He needed a few blocks of strutting down the sidewalk in the fresh air to call up that effortless cool, because he was, as usual, a sappy mess.

Crowley rounded a corner and heard something distinctly Eurovision-esque emanating from the bookshop. He chuckled to himself as he walked the final stretch to the shop and up the stairs.

“So this is the new ABBA record, yeah?” he called out at the top of his lungs, trying to make extra noise as he came through the door. It was always hard for Crowley to understand ABBA lyrics on first take, but he thought he heard:

_So bang, a-boom-a-boomerang, it's love_  
_A-boom-a-boomerang, it's love_

Crowley shook his head and fought back a smile as he heard the angel's singing voice coming from the office area.

“Angel!” he called out as he walked over, “It's me, I'm here, I don't want to scare you. It's just me.”

The music decreased in volume and Aziraphale emerged.

“Crowley, hello!” God, he was always so adorable when he was flushed.

“Yeah, hello. Enjoying your new record? Can hear it halfway down the block, you know,” Crowley said.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “Might have gotten a bit carried away today.”

Crowley handed Aziraphale the small box of truffles. “Brought you a little something.”

“Oh, Crowley, you didn't have to.”

“I know.”

Aziraphale met his eyes for a moment, looked down, then up again. “Well, I've got a lovely case of Côte Rôtie for us,” he said, gesturing for Crowley to sit.

* * *

 

They worked their way through the first two bottles of wine while listening to the second side of the record. Aziraphale was bopping and singing along; it had apparently only taken him half a day to listen to the record a dozen times and memorize all the words. Crowley threw back more than his share of the alcohol and remained mostly quiet, allowing the angel to sing/narrate all his favorite parts of the album. He loved watching Aziraphale's face light up and the animated motions that came out when he was really tickled about something.

The needle retracted and the turntable came to a stop. Crowley put his glass down and clapped.

“Just wonderful, it's just wonderful,” Aziraphale said as he stood up.

“You _really_ meant it when you said you haven't been this excited about music since the Baroque days. I'm impressed,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale clutched his chest. “Absolutely. Such an exciting time. And you've brought something for us to hear, yes?”

Crowley picked up the record from where he'd leaned it against his feet and presented it to Aziraphale with a dramatic flourish, waving his hand below as though he were a waiter presenting a nice wine to the table.

“Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes... Black and Blue,” Aziraphale read aloud. He took the record over and laid it on the turntable. Bright and cheerful horns burst forth, and Aziraphale looked at Crowley questioningly.

“Is this, oh, it is!” Aziraphale's face lit up as the singers came in.

“It's what?” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale.

“It's Cabaret,” The angel saw the blank look on Crowley's face and continued, “It's from a musical. A favorite of mine, actually. Was lucky enough to see it when it was at West End.”

“Ah, didn't know that.”

“They're quite good, Crowley, I think I was expecting something,” Aziraphale reached for the bottle of wine, “a bit different.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Really, Angel? Expecting chants of 'Hail Satan, our Dark Lord,' something like that?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and topped up Crowley's glass. “That's not what I meant. I just wasn't quite sure what type of music it was. I'm still not, but it's lovely.”

“Yeah, they are very good. It's a whole, uh, orchestra they have there. Loads and loads of people in there, all playing together.”

“How did you hear this music for the first time?” Aziraphale asked as the familiar Rhodes chords of “The Love I Lost” began to drift through the room.

“Well, this one, they asked me to come in. I got to work on this song, actually,” Crowley didn't mean to, but he absolutely sat up a bit taller than normal. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and let out a little high-pitched “hmm?” as he grabbed a truffle from the box on the table.

“For whatever reason, the producers weren't happy with the vocals and asked me to go in there and talk to the lead singer,” Crowley remembered exactly what he'd said that day, and the deeply emotional reaction it had provoked from Teddy. Whew. He had been going through it back then, huh? He'd completely unloaded on a total stranger to the point that-

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just asking what you said to the singer. This is... it's quite beautiful,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley nodded.

“Yeah, well. Um, I,” Crowley gulped down some wine. “I don't really remember everything I said. That's sort of how it works, lots of,” he gestured loosely with his hand, “you get in there and just say something, lots of nothing, really.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he looked at Crowley. The conversation fell off for a while as they continued to enjoy the music and the superb wine; Aziraphale cajoled Crowley into having a truffle. A while later, Crowley noticed Aziraphale pulling spare threads out of the sofa and looking over at him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale looked down at his hands. “I, um. I wanted to say something.”

“Okay,” Shit. Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, who was now chewing on his lip and fidgeting with the edge of his vest.

“Sometimes you act like you don't care. At all, about yourself, about...” Aziraphale trailed off.

“About what?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said as he poured himself more wine.

Crowley wasn't sure exactly where this was going, but the memory of their last serious conversation was still burned into his mind. If Aziraphale wanted to say something, he could go on and say it, but Crowley wasn't going to push the discussion. He slumped further into the armrest and waited for Aziraphale to continue.

“We've known each other a long time.”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, that we have.”

“A _very_ long time,” Aziraphale said.

Now Crowley was just confused. “Uh, yes? Am I-”

Aziraphale cut him off. “If something were to... happen to you, I would care.”

“Eh,” Crowley scoffed and reached for the wine. “don't worry about me, Angel, they're not gonna do anything to me, I'm just a-”

“That's not what I'm trying to say!” Aziraphale knocked the glass from Crowley's hand and it shattered against the floor. Crowley pulled his sunglasses down a bit and allowed Aziraphale to see the top of his eyes. He clasped his hands together as he waited for Aziraphale to speak.

“I'm so sorry,” the angel said, snapping his fingers and quickly miracling the glass back together. Crowley's eyes were wide. He'd never seen Aziraphale like this.

“Crowley, you're,” Aziraphale's eyebrows were knit together in frustration. “you're my _friend_.” His voice broke on the last word and Crowley stilled.

“I know that, Angel,” Crowley said quietly.

“But,” Aziraphale stopped. His lip began to tremble and he brought his hand up to cover his eyes. Crowley couldn't take it anymore. He did his best impersonation of an exasperated sigh.

“Come here,” Crowley said, purposely lacing his voice with annoyance. Aziraphale already knew that Crowley got like this when he was trying to express affection, but he was willing to continue playing the game if it made Aziraphale feel more comfortable.

“What?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, only if you _want_ to. Just,” Crowley held out his arms and motioned with his hands. “come here.”

Aziraphale looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. Crowley continued to hold his arms out in invitation, feeling like a real fucking fool, until the angel scooted over on the sofa and gently brought his hands up over Crowley's shoulders. He closed his arms around Aziraphale and inhaled, breathing in as much of him as he could. They'd never been so close; had they ever been so close? Crowley swallowed and tried to disguise the fact that his hands were shaking as he ran them down Aziraphale's back.

“It's... okay,” Crowley said. Was that enough? Now was probably not a good time to share how absolutely wonderful it felt to have Aziraphale in his arms.

“Don't _leave_ me,” was what Crowley thought he heard Aziraphale murmur into his shoulder. His stomach lurched. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit... play it cool.

“Psh, I'm not going to leave you, Angel. Where the heavens am I gonna go? Stuck here, remember?”

Aziraphale sniffled a bit.

“Did you really think I was gonna go off and, I don't know, do a few shots of Holy Water and...” Crowley stopped. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Well, stop that,” Crowley said. His hands had stilled on the angel's back and he was relishing the warmth radiating off of Aziraphale's body. Crowley decided to continue with his standard poor attempts at humor.

“Besides, I _can't_ leave you. Who'd look after you? You get yourself into too much trouble as it is. Imagine if I wasn't here.” Aziraphale laughed against his shoulder and then sat back upright.

Crowley took off his sunglasses. “Feel better?”

Aziraphale pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes. “Yes. You had me worried, you know.”

Crowley bit the edge of his lip. “I know.”

The first side of the record had stopped a while back. Crowley patted Aziraphale softly on the knee and stood up to switch it over.

“And I'm sorry,” Crowley said with his back turned.

 

* * *

 

The music wound down, and predictably, Crowley stood and offered some variation of “I'll let you get back to it,” before slinking towards the door. Aziraphale watched Crowley leave, and felt the edge of a familiar gnawing ache settling in. Truth was, he liked having Crowley around. They'd gotten used to a certain routine in the past thirty years or so; usually seeing each other once a month, less often if their respective sides had them working on specific assignments. Modern conveniences made it easier for their Arrangement to continue without too much interference, and Aziraphale was glad for it. The past few years of not seeing Crowley had been harder on him that he'd care to admit.

He began picking up the wine glasses and bottles when he noticed that Crowley had forgotten to take the Blue Notes album with him. Aziraphale set down the wine and took the record off the turntable. When he went to put it back into the sleeve, it wouldn't fit. He shook the sleeve and out fell a smaller record, marked as a 'promotional single'. Aziraphale read the handwritten note on the paper sleeve.

“For AJ. Something new from the Blue Notes. Thought you might like it. Stay well, T”

Aziraphale put the record on and was greeted with slow, warped noises that sounded like they were coming from the bottom of the ocean.

“Well, that can't be right. Oh-” he realized he had the turntable set on the wrong speed, adjusted it and started the song over. The warped noises evened out to ripples, still sounding a bit oceanic, but at the right speed, the sounds quickly melded into one another. Aziraphale had never heard anything like this before. He sat down on the sofa to listen. There was a current of longing underneath the chord changes; or was that just what he was feeling? A woman with a silky smooth voice began singing and Aziraphale lost himself in thought. Who was ‘T’? He hadn't seen Crowley looking this good in quite some time; the music seemed to be having a steadying affect upon him. Maybe after all this time, Crowley had finally grown tired of waiting for him. Aziraphale couldn't blame him, especially after the hot and cold way he'd behaved, not just over years, but millennia. 'It's simply against the rules,' he'd told himself over and over again. Yet he couldn't ignore the way he'd always felt about Crowley, around Crowley; at ease, enjoying his company, his feeble attempts at humor, and secure in the knowledge that he would always be there, a fellow eternal being with which to share memories and experiences.

_I hope that we can be together soon_  
_I hope that we can be together soon_

Aziraphale was always struck by the way human musical compositions so closely resembled those from the heavens, especially when it came to repetition. It reinforced his faith in the divinity that bound all things, the order, the Great Ineffable Plan. If humans could create such beautiful songs without even hearing the ancient celestial anthems, surely the connection between heaven and earth could remain intact through time.

_I hope that we can be together soon, real soon, can you make it real soon?_

It wasn't until he heard about the attempted church robbery that he imagined a future without Crowley. It scared him. Aziraphale had spent the next two years on his own making a giant mess of his 'Summer of Love' concept and compulsively shopping to the point where he had to add two extra closets in upstairs. And now here he was alone with a sad song, mawkishly finishing off a bottle of wine, and kicking himself for being such a coward. He sucked in a deep breath and laid down face first on the sofa.

* * *

 

Crowley parked the Bentley and sauntered up to his flat, lost in thought. He barely noticed he'd made it home until he realized he was standing in the plant room, mister in hand.

Wasn't it okay to have Aziraphale as his friend? Surely that meant the angel wasn't going to continue his pattern of pushing him away. If they were friends, and had used the word tonight for the first time, wouldn't that mean they'd have a more stable relationship? Wouldn't it be better to just accept the gift of Aziraphale's friendship with open arms, and let the rest of his desires go? Is it better to have say, ten percent of something, or nothing at all? Crowley was just fine playing it safe at this point in his existence. He'd rather know that he could continue to see Aziraphale over dinner, out and about, at the bookshop, than to go through another six days of what he felt after their SoHo meeting. He nodded to himself and ignored the hollow feeling under his ribs as he misted his plants. This was a decision he could live with.

“Besides, it's not as if I had a chance, really,” Crowley said as he picked a dead philodendron leaf off the floor. No sense in lying to one's self; that was a human trait Crowley would never adopt. He sighed and stumbled back down the hallway.

Crowley had received a record of his own in the mail today; the copy of the Ohio Players album he engineered in Chicago. He carefully opened the package and took out the record. There was a handwritten note taped to the front.

To our friend AJ - thanks for the “Fire”

The album was covered in squiggly black lines resembling abstract art; were they – oh, they were signatures. Crowley held the record in his hands and felt oddly touched. He wasn’t sure anyone besides Aziraphale had ever called him a friend. Had anyone ever given him something like this, a little piece of a creation that he’d been part of, in his entire time on this planet? He couldn’t recall. And this group of musicians had taken the time he’d given them and made something really incredible, full of fire and funky. Crowley walked to the turntable, put the record on, and sprawled out on the sofa right as the sirens kicked off the first song. He cracked the bones in his feet and let his ankles swing side to side with the beat. It wasn’t too long before he extended a slender arm to start snapping on the two and the four. This music was so catchy, it might as well be infectious. Or deadly. What were they calling it exactly? Was it funk? Or was it more soul, as he had heard Kenny & Leon call it in Philadelphia? He’d heard something about dance chart standings. Was it dance? The opening groove hit and Crowley just couldn’t help himself.

“Fiiiiiiiiii-yaaah,” he sang along, quietly. He was alone but for the plants. Maybe his off-key attempts at singing could be used as a bargaining chip. ‘Grow right, and I promise not to do this in the flat anymore,’ he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're listening to the B-side of ABBA's self titled 1975 album, along with more Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes. 
> 
> The promotional single that falls out of the record sleeve is 'Hope That We Can Be Together Soon' which is Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes (remember that it's Teddy Pendergrass singing) featuring Sharon Paige. Absolutely gorgeous song and I am obsessed with the wah-wah in the beginning.  
> https://youtu.be/KmOdP8rqSZQ


	9. There's No Place I'd Rather You Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets an interesting offer and makes his way to the famed Musicland Studios in Munich, West Germany...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Thanks for all the amazing comments and kudos. I'm working on assembling the playlist in order but there's some weird bug with my Spotify right now. I will also be adding a larger music post on my Tumblr (orchidlocked) as there are some good tunes that are not on Spotify. Thanks for following along with the story.

London  
July 1975

Crowley was gathering a few things together to pop in a bag for his short trip when the phone rang. He’d gotten a few odd looks from humans whenever he’d showed up without even so much as a change of clothes. It was probably Aziraphale on the other end of the line, but just in case:

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar voice greeted him. “Yes, hello. Is this AJ Crowley?”

“Right, it is,” Crowley paused. Was he supposed to say something else?

“Right, my name’s Jack, I got your info from Mickie Most.”

“Ah, hello. Great guy, Mickie. What can I do for you, Jack?” Crowley asked.

“Might be a long shot, but right now I’ve got a radio show on Thursday nights, 9 to midnight.” Jack said.

“Okay,” Crowley said. He had no clue where this was going.

“I’ve been at it for a year or so, basically I just play whatever I want,” Jack continued. “I started out with Northern Soul and have been moving more into, funk, I guess?”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Crowley said. “Made my way to the Twisted Wheel once, that was quite a time.”

“Yeah? Great stuff,” Jack said. “Anyway, I’ve had quite a lot of fun with this, but my mum's sick and I’ve got to go back to Manchester to care for her.”

Crowley felt a sharp twinge of emotion. How humans managed to cope with all the sorrows of mortality was always a mystery to him. “I’m real sorry to hear that, mate.”

“Yeah, thanks, it’s life I guess,” Jack paused. “So the reason I’m calling is, I need someone to take over my Thursday nights. Mickie said you’re into a lot of the same stuff as me, and I loved the Ohio Players album you worked on.”

“Uh, I’m sorry?” Crowley asked. “Are you asking me to be a-“

“If you’d want the DJ slot, it’s yours,” Jack said. “You came highly recommended. And there’s really not much pressure on it, I mean it when I say I’ve been playing pretty much whatever I want.”

Crowley glanced over at his record collection. He’d recently added another shelf and his vinyl now took up about a third of the wall in the main room.

Jack cleared his throat and continued. “I’ve kept all my playlists. I’d be happy to let you take a look if you’re concerned about continuity, but I think we’ve got similar tastes and,” he stopped for breath, “you’d really be helping me out, AJ.”

Crowley decided it was best to be honest. “I mean, yeah, it sounds like fun, I’ve just never done it before.”

“Why don’t you come by on Thursday night then? Just to see how it all works on radio.”

Crowley looked around for a calendar which did not exist. “Uh, what day is today? I’m getting ready to go to Munich for a session.”

“Today is Friday,” Jack said. “You think you’ll be back by then?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Crowley said.

“Ahh, fantastic,” Jack said with a sigh of relief.

He rattled out the radio station details and Crowley jotted them down on a notepad he’d swiped from Paragon Studios. They closed out the call with a few pleasantries, and Crowley went back to reviewing the contents of his weekend bag. Two black shirts, two pairs of black trousers, some socks and assorted underthings, what else... Crowley had never needed to shave, but after his century-long nap, he'd been pleasantly surprised to discover advances in shaving technology that transformed the entire experience for him. It had quickly become his grounding morning ritual. Sure, he could conjure up his favorite shaving cream, but it always smelled better when he used it as-is. Crowley grabbed his shaving kit and shoved in the bag. He looked down at his hands; on his right middle finger was a golden ring in the shape of a snake he'd had since the start of the Georgian era. He chuckled. Fashion was just so funny; the same things came into style and went back out over and over again. The ring looked perfectly chic and in tune with the times, so on it stayed. Crowley took a few minutes to water and threaten the plants; then he grabbed his bag and was off. 

* * *

 

Musicland Studios  
Munich, West Germany

Crowley arrived to a sleek and modern building with a dramatic white facade. This time, he was heading to the basement. Crowley heard a low hum and felt vibrations coming through the walls as he slinked down a long staircase. He walked in the direction of the snippets of conversation drifting down the hallway.

“Neil says he needs a twenty minute version! He says he just has to have it!” a man cried out in a sing-song voice.

“Are you, _psh_ , how much more loving can he possibly need?” a woman asked.

Crowley heard some mutterings from a third voice as he approached the door to the control room and rapped gently to announce his arrival. Three people turned to face him; a pale man with long brown hair and no moustache, an olive skinned man with an enormous dark moustache and tinted brown glasses, and a Black woman in a strapless lavender sundress with shimmering, bright brown eyes, her face framed by the soft waves of her hair.

“Hello there, I'm AJ Crowley. From London,” he said quietly.

The man without the moustache walked over to Crowley and shook his hand.

“Hi, yeah, I'm Pete, thanks for coming all this way. And this is Donna,” he said, gesturing to his right.

Donna stepped forward and shook Crowley's hand. “Hello.” Crowley felt he should bow, or possibly curtsy, and ended up attempting an awkward combination of both.

And finally, the man behind the console stood and extended his hand. “You can call me Georgio.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Okay, so you can go in and try this now, yes?” Georgio asked Donna, who answered with a sigh.

“I'm just... I don't know how this is going to go.”

Pete's eyes flicked back and forth between Donna and Georgio. Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall.

Pete spoke up, “We know you can do this, Donna. It's going to be great.”

“Oh-kay,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit and gently combing her fingers through the bottom half of her hair, which poufed outwards into the bottom of a soft triangle shape. She headed back into the live room.

Georgio and Pete shared a look for a moment. “AJ,” Pete said, “you, um, you have a reputation for being able to talk to musicians, especially singers.”

“I do?” Crowley asked. This was news to him.

Georgio nodded. “Will you see if you can, you know,” Pete trailed off and gestured to the live room.

“She is the best,” Georgio said, “as long as she is comfortable this will be, it will be everything.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.” Crowley knocked gently on the door to the live room as he opened it.

“Just a moment, please,” Donna said quietly.

“Course,” Crowley said, pausing until she beckoned him to enter.

“How are you feeling about it all?” he asked.

Donna shrugged and twisted her expressive features into a face that said something like, 'Ehhhh?'

“From what they said in there, everyone already loves the song,” he said. “It seems like this is gonna just take off once it's done.”

“I mean, that would be lovely, but it feels like it's a bit,” she paused. “a bit too explicit, the first version was already such a stretch. You heard it, right?”

“You know, uh, no one actually sent me anything before asking me to come here,” Crowley admitted. Donna burst out into joyous, rippling laughter.

“Oh, you got a surprise coming to you, honey,” she said. “They basically want me to get in here and _moan_ and _groan_ for twenty whole minutes,” she closed her eyes on the words and sensually breathed them out.

Crowley's eyes went wide and he coughed a bit, which made Donna laugh even harder. “Is that so?” he asked. She simply nodded back and then they both broke up into undignified giggles.

“Wow, uh, that's a first for me,” Crowley said once he got himself back under control.

“I think it's a first for everyone,” Donna said, running her fingers over her bangs. “I guess I'm just gonna think about my boyfriend when I do this.”

“Do you love him?” Crowley asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he good to you?”

“Oh yes,” Donna chuckled a bit. “He's very good to me.”

Crowley shrugged. “So, is it somehow bad to feel pleasure? To feel love? Is it wrong to enjoy, I don't know, feeling good? I can't get behind that theory.” He thought of Aziraphale leaning into his shoulder and his hand on the angel's back.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked. Crowley shook his head. There was a brief period of silence before he decided to just say it.

“I have a-” what was the word he'd heard people use? “a partner.” The minute the words left Crowley's mouth, he knew he'd live to regret them.

“And do you love him? Is he good to you?” Donna asked.

“Yes, yes I do,” Crowley said. He tried not to get too hung up on the second question as it unexpectedly stung, and he knew she didn't mean it like that.

“So you understand,” she said. Crowley did not understand, but he nodded as though he did.

“Why don't you just give it a try thinking about all that love then?” he asked. “Nothing wrong with that, yeah?”

Donna pursed her lips and gave Crowley a spirited look as she shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, sure, I feel love.” Crowley gave her a thumbs-up.

“Plus, they're not gonna let me out of here until I get this done,” she whispered with an exaggerated gesture towards the control room. God, she was funny. Crowley was laughing again.

“What do you need? What would help you get into the _mood_?” he asked as he wiggled his eyebrows, causing Donna to slap him playfully on the arm.

“I don't know. Maybe put up some curtains or something. I don't want everyone to be watching me while I do this,” she said as she moved forward the vocal microphone in the center of the live room. Crowley gave her a thumbs-up and headed back into the control room.

“She wants some privacy, are there any curtains?” Crowley said. Pete left the room and returned a few moments later with a heavy curtain, which he and Crowley threaded onto the curtain rod over the window that separated the control room and live room. Donna let out a deeply sensual, “Ahh,” as he and Pete were heading back out.

There was a rustling sound and Donna's voice came through the speakers. “I think I'd like to try it laying down.”

Crowley grabbed a small square pillow from the couch and took it back into the live room.

“Will this do?” he asked. Donna looked at him blankly. “You know, to put under your head,” Crowley gestured.

“Oh, sure thing. Thank you, AJ,” Crowley couldn't get over the gentle multiudes present in her voice. It was as lovely to hear her speak as it was to hear her sing.

“AJ,” Georgio spoke from the control room, “you can set the microphone so she can be on the floor.”

Crowley had no idea how to adjust the mic stand. He grabbed the stand and pulled on the top part, but it refused to budge. Shit.

“Let me get that,” Donna said. “This one's a bit-” she fidgeted with a knob and the stand shifted, “there we go.” Crowley held the microphone steady as Donna drew it down until it hung just above where her mouth would be as she laid down on the floor.

“Is that good?” Crowley asked.

Donna scooted back and put her head on the pillow. “La, oh, la, la,” she sang into the microphone. “Yes, that's good.” Crowley stood and moved a few of the curtains closer together so no one from the control room could peer in.

“Do you want the lights off, too?” he asked, as an afterthought.

“Yes, yes, I think that's a good idea,” she said and he heard some rustling around on the floor. He switched the lights off and headed back into the control room.

“The lights? Why are the lights off?” Georgio asked.

Crowley shrugged. “She said she wanted them off.”

Georgio moved his mouth and his giant moustache twisted into an odd shape. “Fine, good,” he said. “Are we ready to make magic?”

There was a soft chuckle from the live room. “Let's go,” Donna said.

Georgio started the playback and a few pre-roll clicks sounded before the vocals and hi-hat came in right at the top:

 _Ahh, love to love you, baby_  
_Ahh, love to love you, baby_

Donna let out a deep, breathy moan. Crowley's eyes went wide. She hadn't been kidding about the explicit nature of the song!

 _When you're laying so close to me_  
_There's no place I'd rather you be_  
_Than with me, me – oh!_

Crowley quickly picked up that she was singing the melody an octave below what was already on the track and adding extra sensual sounds as needed. Pete walked over to Georgio's side and began swaying his head back and forth in time with the music.

“He says he wants a music you can make love to, without changing the music and the mood,” Georgio said, gesturing at the air. Crowley watched as his fingers tapped on the edge of the console.

All elements of the music slowly dropped out except the bass, keeping some sort of odd syncopated rhythm Crowley couldn't quite trace until the drums and guitar came back in. Slowly, all the sounds began to work their way back in, and the song began to build behind a simple string line. The drums became louder, and suddenly there were dramatic violin lines echoing the cadence and tone of Donna's sensual 'oh's'. Crowley couldn't hear a string instrument without thinking of Aziraphale; during the Classical period they'd snuck off to mainland Europe at least a dozen times to hear symphonies. He'd never heard a violin or viola used in this way before.

The song continued to shift, and the sounds of a keyboard went to the front of the mix. It pulled the story of the song further forward. Donna's moans and sounds had reached a new level; she sounded like she was close to crying at some moments, shrieking in surprise at others.

“That's what we've been trying to get,” Georgio said, gesturing furiously with his hands. “This sound of making love all night long, being completely overcome, this is going to be huge.”

“If we can get the rest of this, we can be done, get this pressed and back to Neil,” Pete said hopefully.

Pete and Georgio looked at each other, then at Crowley, who quickly stared down at the toes of his boots. He knew he was the only person in the room who didn't know much about the 'sound of love making,' and he felt his face flush with shame. There were a lot of assumptions made about demons. Crowley was indeed a master tempter, but his job was to get people to do those things with each other. What was the point of getting involved in human activities? Sure, he had a good idea of what caused the all shrieking and moaning, but he'd never experienced it himself.

An instrument that sounded like an electric flute took over the melody for a while. Donna had fallen quiet, and Crowley felt glad she could take a break. The intensity in her peformance carried through in every breathy gasp and every doubled melody line; she had to be exhausted by now. How long had they been recording? Crowley had no idea. After a synth breakdown, more voices joined in on a variation of the main theme, adding extra lines and a change in the chord structure. The song continued to build in a way that felt more and more celestial with every passing measure. Crowley closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.

He remembered bits and pieces of his life before the Fall. Not much, just enough to fill him with longing and regret. Memories would sometimes come to him, but he couldn't consciously recall them. It was like trying to peer into a broken kaleidoscope.

Crowley's breath caught as a particularly heavenly-sounding string line shook loose something in his mind and a piece of a forgotten memory made its way back to him; he had once been able to sing. Crowley recalled watching his hands, spinning matter from the cosmos into a nebula, purple, pink, blue, gold, black, points of light and points of darkness. And for the first time, he remembered singing into the space between his hands, using the force of his breath and the pitch of the notes to spin the matter into a set form, stopping only once he was satisfied with its elegant appearance. Crowley felt two distinct aches on his back, right over the spots where his wings met his torso. How could it still hurt so much after all this time?

At some point, Pete had shut the lights off in the control room. Crowley reached up under his sunglasses to wipe away a few errant tears. He breathed in sharply and worked on collecting himself before the song came to an end.

A sudden blast of horns and a full stop in the music jolted him upright. And then the lines came back again, _love to love you baby_ , over and over and over, this time anchored with extra female voices, more strings, and Donna's live moans coming through the speakers. Crowley couldn't stop his foot from tapping along with the music. What a journey; he imagined how people would respond to this on a dance floor. His mind was filled with visions of people touching one another, swaying together, smiling and laughing. Crowley imagined Aziraphale's face before him. He felt a flush rising within him as he pictured staring into the angel's eyes as they swayed in time to the beat. That was the thing; he _knew_ Aziraphale loved to dance. It was so hard to listen to a single note of this infectiously catchy music designed for dancing without longing for a day when he could take the angel by the hand and lead him out underneath the lights. A spark of an idea ignited inside Crowley as he felt the beat make its way down to his hips.

He could make this a thing; it would be nothing compared to much of the work he'd done over the years. Hell, he didn't even need to invent anything. As usual, Crowley could just enhance the work done by the humans. He imagined people all over the world dancing to this new style, to this song, until the wee hours of the morning. Crowley pictured points of light throughout the darkness, like stars dotting the night sky; he visualized the bright, rich colors of the planets, nebulas, and galaxies swirling through a space brought to life by music. And he dared to imagine an angel, his Angel, in his arms.

'I can do this,' Crowley thought as the recording session slowly wound down into silence, 'and maybe then, I can ask him to dance with me.' He felt flooded with emotion but for once, he didn't feel as though he was drowning in it.

Georgio erupted into applause and Pete and Crowley joined in, “Ah, Donna, Donna mia, once again, you've done it once again!”

“You're a wild man,” she said, her voice fading out from the speakers as she approached the door to the control room. “We're done with that, but I'm not gonna listen to it right now.” She curtsied once she was in the doorway, giggling as she held out the edges of the cotton dress.

“Donna, it was,” Georgio was gesturing furiously, “it was inspired! It was magic!” he met Donna and kissed her on the cheek. “My star,” he said fondly, patting her on the shoulder. “Good thing you did this tonight, because they want it right now! It's going to be huge!”

She cocked her head to the side, “I'm gonna trust you on that, Georgio. I mean it – I'm not gonna listen to it right now.”

Pete shook Donna's hand. “You're just incredible, you know that?”

She simply batted her eyelashes in response, which sent Crowley over the edge. He burst out laughing and almost lost his sunglasses in the process.

“Thanks for coming down, AJ,” Pete said, reaching out to shake Crowley's hand, “seems we didn't have quite as much going on as we thought we did, but we do a lot of projects here. Can we keep you in our roster for the future?”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said. “Honestly, it's a pleasure just to be invited.” This was true; he would be happy to show up and do nothing but fetch the coffee.

Georgio stood and placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder. “AJ, I must say, I really like your style,” he said, gesturing to Crowley's outfit. “Hope to see you again here.” A genuine warmth radiated off of him as he smiled at Crowley.

“Can I help with shutting down or anything?” Crowley asked.

Pete shook his head and Georgio waved him off. “Nothing to shut down,” Georgio said. “We paid for your hotel for the next two days if you want to stay and, do, have a look.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “That's not necessary-”

“Please!” Georgio cut him off with yet another dramatic hand gesture. “I insist.”

“I'm sure we'll work you to death the next time we ask you to come to Munich,” Pete added.

“Thank you very much,” Crowley said, that warm and cozy feeling rising from the center of his chest again. “I'll look forward to it. Right, well, I'll be off then.”

“Ciao,” said Georgio.

“Thank you, AJ,” said Pete. “I'll be in touch.”

Crowley gave an awkward thumbs up. Then he turned to Donna, “It's been such a pleasure to hear you sing, I-”

“Oh, I'm heading out with you,” she said. “Good night, gentlemen.” They headed down the hallway and up the stairs in silence.

“AJ, have you ever been to Munich?” Donna asked as they made their way to the exit.

Crowley held the door open for her as he tried to pull up a couple thousand years of history on the fly. “Uh...”

“You haven't! Let me take you out for a drink,” she said.

Crowley panicked and blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind, “Uh, I don't speak the language.”

“I'm fluent, we can go anywhere. Mein Freund aus London kommt zu mir. Wir wollen feiern!”

He was so flustered by the request and the flawless switching between languages that no words could emerge from his gaping mouth.

“ _Please_!” Donna pulled at his arm. “I have the day _off_ tomorrow, we can go out properly. Peter is out of town.”

“Who's Peter?”

“My boyfriend,” she said. “Your partner lets you go out with your friends, doesn't he?”

Crowley blinked. He had spent time with humans over the millennia, and he certainly enjoyed his evening out with Bob, despite all the crying. Had he ever gone out with a 'friend' who wasn't Aziraphale? Had anyone ever called him a friend within hours of meeting him?

“Of course,” he said.

“Well come _on_ , then! Let's go have a good time,” she said, pushing him gently. Crowley looked at her lively eyes and adorable grin, and he just couldn't say no.

“Anywhere you want to go, miss,” he said, extending his arm for Donna to slip her hand through. Crowley slipped into his best sarcastic, sibilant Queen's English and added, “It would be my utmost pleasure to defend your honor while your boyfriend is away.”

Donna threw her head back and laughed. Crowley was awestruck by her joyful, effervescent presence. “Sweetie, where _we're_ going, _I'll_ have to be the one defending your honor.”

Crowley stared at Donna for a moment before shaking his head and laughing.

“You know what I think?” she asked.

“I think you're gonna tell me what you think,” Crowley shot back, earning himself a nudge in the ribs.

“I think it's been too long since you've had any fun,” Donna said. Crowley smiled and allowed himself to be led off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Northern Soul was an incredible music moment : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_soul
> 
> and The Twisted Wheel in Manchester was one of the main spots for this movement, I love imagining Crowley making his way up there to dance: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twisted_Wheel_Club
> 
> Yes! We're listening to the full extended version of Donna Summer's "Love To Love You Baby," a masterpiece. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5AztWseIdU
> 
> Donna Summer was fluent in German and had lived in Germany for years doing musical and theater productions before becoming a disco superstar. Here's a 1976 American Bandstand interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9VFKune2mw
> 
> And here's an interview with her speaking German: https://youtu.be/5-V_2Heu3BA
> 
> The German she's speaking is supposed to be "My friend from London came to visit me, we want to party!" and my friend who's fluent translated for me but if its wrong I'll happily change it, just wanted it to be something fun and silly.
> 
> Here's a great article about Neil Bogart of Casablanca records, who heard the original release just called 'Love To Love You.' After playing the single version several times in a row at a party, he immediately called Georgio Moroder in Germany. This piece also has a lot of direct quotes from Donna Summer about the whole experience: https://thequietus.com/articles/08825-donna-summer-interview-love-to-love-you-rocks-backpages
> 
> Daft Punk interviewed Georgio Moroder to do a track on their 2013 album 'Random Access Memories' and he's since experienced a career renaissance. He's a funny man and comes across as jovial and interesting in interviews.
> 
> Pete Bellotte is the other producer in the room.


	10. I Wonder If Your Love Will Ever Belong To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns the ropes to take over Jack's DJ shift at famed London pirate radio station, Radio Invicta, the home of Soul Over London! Later on, Crowley attempts to do something he maybe shouldn't have. He ends up slightly injured in this chapter, but everything will be okay by the end of next chapter. Heed that warning. Thanks to @trickshire for beta-ing!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter really ran away from me. Sorry for the slow update, my sister got married this weekend so I was fairly busy. Enjoy! This has a lot of wonderful history about pirate radio in the UK and I am so excited to share it with you.

Monday morning  
Munich

Crowley was still hungover when he started his journey home to London on Monday morning. Donna hadn’t been kidding when she said she wanted to have fun! They’d been out until the sun came up on Saturday morning, and then she’d added him to the guest list for her Saturday night musical performance. Crowley had no idea that a show called “Godspell” would turn out to be an entire hour and a half of the Gospel according to Matthew interspersed with several songs; he’d had to remove his shoes and socks in the first twenty minutes. His coat followed shortly after, but nothing caught fire. He’d been able to hold out with the aid of a large cup of ice he’d pilfered at intermission. The rest of Saturday night had been spent with Donna and Peter at their flat. Crowley met the entire cast of the show and what seemed to be at least half of Munich’s theater performers. They’d partied so hard, Crowley had opted to crash on Donna’s couch instead of making his way back to the hotel. On Sunday, the two of them took a long walk through the famous Hofgarten, which Donna had insisted upon after Crowley casually complimented the pothos vining its way through her kitchen window. Peter and Crowley ran around town together on Sunday evening; Crowley had even eaten a bratwurst, and Peter drunkenly insisted he stay with them again on Sunday night. Donna put on record after record, and they stayed up late drinking wine and swapping stories. He woke up with a splitting headache and nearly stepped on Donna, who had fallen asleep on the floor next to the sofa.

“What time is your flight?” she asked, brushing stray hairs out of her mouth and reaching for a half full glass of water on the coffee table.

“It’s at eleven,” Crowley said. Wait. Was it? “I think.”

“Let me get some clothes on and I’ll take you,” Donna said.

“Take me where? You’re not really in a position to drive, now.”

“I am not going to drive you, I’ll just ride with you. If you’re trying to get technical with it when we’re _both_ hungover.”

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “Ouch,” he said, clutching his forehead.

Donna popped into her bedroom to change and Crowley packed up what little belongings he’d brought with him. A few moments later, Donna emerged from her room in a flowy green paisley dress, a large straw hat, and oversized brown sunglasses.

“You’re onto something with the shades, AJ,” she chuckled.

“Did Peter take off already?”

“No, he’s sleeping in the bathtub.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Crowley said. They both cracked up into hushed laughter.

“Let me at least leave him a note before we go,” Crowley said as he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from a side table. He began to scribble a quick note:

_Peter, a real pleasure to meet you. Thanks for the good time on the town._

How should he sign it? Crowley hesitated for a moment and then decided to just go for it.

 _Call anytime when in London._  
_Your friend, AJ_

“Where should I leave this?” Crowley asked.

Donna snatched the note from his hand and disappeared into the bedroom.

“Wait - What are you doing?”

“I licked it and stuck it on his forehead,” Donna said in a loud whisper as she grabbed her keys. “Let’s go.” Crowley giggled to himself under his breath and followed her out the door.

* * *

  
Crowley didn’t use a demonic intervention to get them to the airport without anyone vomiting in the back of the cab, but it sure felt that way.

“Why the _hell_ did you agree to go with me?” he asked Donna, who was currently groaning into his shoulder.

“Because I don’t want you to _leave_ , I had so much fun,” she said as she leaned further into Crowley’s arms. He felt something inside of him twist and begin to spill open.

“I had fun too, dear,” Crowley said softly.

“But next time,” Donna hiccuped, and Crowley was afraid that this was it, “we’re going to pace ourselves a bit more. I feel like shit.”

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh; he also felt like shit.

“Don’t laugh at me, you bastard!” Donna yelled and pinched Crowley in the thigh.

“Oi! Oi! None of that, missy!”

“It’s your fault we had too much fun.”

“ _It's your fault we had too much fun_ ,” Crowley replied back in his best sing-song mocking voice. Donna went to pinch him again, but Crowley grabbed her hands before she could do so. She burped.

“Ugh, I don't feel so good.”

“All right, all right. We both need to take it easy. Especially you, Miss Party Animal.” Crowley gently ran his hand down Donna's arm. He wasn't sure he'd touched anyone like this in a while; it felt so nice to be able to offer someone comfort and affection with no other expectations attached.

They approached the airport and Crowley dug around in his pockets to find out where he needed to be.

“AJ, this was so fun,” Donna adjusted her shades. “I had a great time.”

“Come to London and we can have even more fun.” The words leapt from his mouth in flutters; Crowley felt a nervous tingle in his chest. Was it too forward? He’d made sure to let her know he was -

“Yes! I’d love to. We'd love that. Peter and I have lots of friends in London-”

“-Right, well, I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time,” Crowley attempted to cover up his miscalculation, but Donna cut him off immediately:

“-What? What are you talking about? We can all go out.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “Oh, right. Yeah, well, of course. Of course. Sounds great.”

The cab driver stopped at the Crowley opened the door and swung his long legs out onto the concrete. He had to grab onto the side of the door for a bit. Shit, his head was still spinning.

“Do you want me to walk you in?” Donna scooted towards the door of the cab.

“Nah love, I’m good. You get yourself back home. And have some...” what helped with a hangover?

“I need some bread,” she said.

“Yes, bread. Get some bread! You take care of yourself! Make that man of yours take care of you too!” Crowley shook his finger at her.

“Did you leave your number with me? Here's mine.” Donna handed him a card.

Crowley reached into his pocket and snapped his fingers to conjure up a card with his home address and phone number on it. He pulled it out and was surprised to read the title “Record Producer” underneath his name.

“And here's me. Come on and see me soon!” Crowley wasn't used to words and sentences like these spilling so freely from his mouth. It felt like falling. He truly, desperately, hoped he wasn't overdoing it, and at the exact moment the fear started to creep in, Donna stepped out of the car and gave him the loveliest, warmest, most sincere hug.

“I promise! Let me know when you make it home.” She squeezed Crowley's shoulders and then gave him an adorable little push towards the terminal entrance.

“You got it,” Crowley said, offering up an awkward attempt at a salute. He caught himself skipping a few steps as he made his way inside the terminal and towards his gate. Crowley briefly thought about using a minor demonic intervention to make his way home, but this headache was truly the devil's work. He'd heard one way to get through a hangover was to keep drinking, so he downed a few gin and tonics on the flight home. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work; once back in his flat, he sobered up by dumping the excess alcohol in his system down the train. Crowley then proceeded to sleep for the next 72 hours.

 

* * *

 

Thursday evening  
London

Crowley arrived at the address Jack had given him about ten minutes to nine. He checked the address, checked it again, then looked around. This was a residential area, and the address matched that of the only tower block on the street. Just as he thought he'd really gone and fucked it all up, a short man with mousy brown hair approached him slowly.

“AJ?” he asked tentatively.

“Hi, yeah, that's me. Are you Jack?” Crowley held out his hand and the other man shook it vigorously.

“Pleasure to meet you, thank you so much, you're really helping me out,” Jack said as he opened the main door and held it open for Crowley.

“So the radio station is... in this building?” Crowley asked as they got into the elevator.

“Yeah, try to keep the location to yourself if you can, we’re technically not supposed to be doing this.”

“Huh?” Crowley’s eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion.

“This is a pirate radio station, one of the original ones, actually. We broadcast the music but we don’t... we don't have a license so it’s best if, uh,” Jack searched for the words, “we keep it underground, you got me?”

“Well, underground is what I do,” Crowley said, gesturing to indicate his lips were sealed. The elevator stopped on the 13th floor and Jack led the way to the end of the hall. He opened the door and in the center of the living space was apparently a makeshift radio broadcasting station complete with turntables and microphone. Every inch of available wall space was covered with shelves holding hundreds, if not thousands, of records. Crowley walked over to get a closer look at the giant wall of vinyl.

“Wow,” Crowley couldn't hide the wonder in his voice. He'd never seen this many records outside of a shop.

“Yeah, most of these are mine,” Jack said proudly. “Let me get us on the air and I’ll show you how to make this all work. It can be a bit fussy at times, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll be good.”

Crowley watched as Jack pulled out a few records and singles to start with, set them on the turntables, and put on his headphones.

“Good evening London, you’re listening to Radio Invicta, the home of Soul Over London. My name’s Jack Evans, and this is Anything Goes Thursdays, where I play the best Northern Soul, new soul, old soul, and anything that’s funky. We’re gonna start it off tonight with a Manchester classic, Angel Baby, by Darrell Banks.”

A drum roll started off the track, followed quickly by an insistent beat topped with vibraphone and sharp horn accents.

 _Angel baby, don’t you spread your wings_  
_Angel baby, don’t you ever leave me_

Oh, Crowley liked this one already. About thirty seconds in, Jack took the headphones off and motioned for Crowley to sit down. He spent the next two and a half hours explaining all the little details specific to the pirate radio: how to adjust the volume from track to track, what to do if the broadcast stopped, how to buzz people up, how the records were organized, on and on it went. Crowley started off by taking notes by hand, and quickly moved to more metaphysical ways to keep track. There was so much information to absorb! How did Jack keep this all straight?

After Jack had asked Crowley to change a few records in a row, he stood up and grabbed a single from the rack. He plopped it on the turntable and then stretched his arms up to the sky.

“I'll be right back. You holding up all right?”

“Doing great, mate,” Crowley answered honestly. Jack patted him on the shoulder and took off down the hallway.

“Oh, by the way, the loo's the second door on the left,” he called out as the door clicked shut.

Ella Fitzgerald's unmistakable voice at first sounded a touch out of place over a fast soul beat, but Crowley soon leaned fully into the song and felt the thrill of discovering a new track by one of his favorite singers:

 _And I'm bringing you a love that's true_  
_So get ready, get ready_  
_I'm gonna try to make you love me too_  
_So get ready, get ready, here I come_

Just as Crowley began to worry, Jack returned and quickly set up a twelve inch single to play next. “Crowley, why don't you pick out the next song for us.”

Crowley wanted to protest, but he felt it was time to wrap his head around the fact that he would now be doing this every Thursday for four hours. By himself. When it came to exploring music, Crowley always, always went by titles. Many times he’d read a song title and just know he was going to love the tune. He pulled a handful of singles off the shelf and flipped through them until he saw one that caught his attention. It read, “I Wonder If Your Love Will Ever Belong To Me,” a single by the Pentagons. Crowley handed it to Jack.

“Oh, that's a lovely track,” Jack said. “Let me show you how to shift from a twelve-inch to a single. You want to press this button here-” there was a small click, “and then you're all set.” He picked up the needle and passed the microphone to Crowley. “Why don't you introduce this one?”

“Uh,” Crowley tried to stall, “I don't-”

“Just introduce yourself, say the station name, Radio Invicta, and then say the song and the title. It's easy.”

The current song began winding down to silence, and Crowley took a deep, steadying breath before scooting over a bit closer to the microphone.

“Good evening, London. This is... AJ Crowley, and you're listening to Radio Invicta. Our next song is 'I Wonder If Your Love Will Ever Belong To Me,' by The Pentagons.”

Jack lowered the needle and the sound of a doo-wop classic resonated over the speakers.

“That was great!” he said to Crowley, who was ripping a discarded piece of paper into tiny shreds.

“Yeah?” Crowley was certain it was not great.

“Yeah, you'll get the hang of it in no time. A good bunch of people run this station, and good people call in. You're making a lot of people happy by playing this music, you know?” Crowley nodded and drifted into the lyrics of the song:

 _A voice within my heart_  
_Says to find another love_  
_But how can I, my dear,_  
_Cause I know it's only you I love_

The last hour flew by in a haze of delightful Northern Soul and funk; Jack took the time to explain every step of his process and share everything he knew about the records and the artists. Before Crowley knew it, the clock read ten minutes to midnight. He was getting ready to make a quip about time flying by when he glanced up and saw Jack staring at him with a serious expression he couldn't quite place.

“AJ, I... I want to give you my records,” Jack said as he stared at the floor.

“You _what_? You can’t be serious.”

“I want you to have them. My mum’s real sick. I have to leave tomorrow morning. There’s just, I don’t have the time or the money to deal with all of this right now,” Jack sniffled a bit, then coughed to try to hide it.

“I can’t accept these, this is your entire life’s collection-“

He cut him off, “oh it’s actually not. You should see what I left behind in Manchester.”

“Still.”

“AJ. Please. I know you will take good care of them. I just want them to go to someone who’s gonna love them as much as I have. And now you’ve got the show, so you can play requests from here if you get them.”

“Jack, I can’t-”

“ _Please_. It’s the best option. I trust you with them. I want you to have them.” Now he was begging, literally begging, for Crowley to take his incredible record collection.

“What about this,” Crowley paused and tried to find the best way to word it. “What if I keep a watch on them for you while you’re away.”

“AJ-”

Crowley held up a hand. “You will be back in London at some point, and I will keep your record collection safe and sound for you until you return. And yes, I’ll play them on the show, too.”

Jack smiled and his eyes appeared a bit glossier than usual. “AJ, you’re a great bloke. I mean it. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure. I expect you to call in requests on Thursdays, though.”

“I think I can manage that,” Jack said. “I’m gonna gather up a few records I can’t live without. If that’s okay.”

“I’m just keeping watch over your record collection; do whatever the hell you want, mate.” Crowley said as Jack headed over to pick through the shelves. An idea started to take hold in his mind, and he wondered if he, or perhaps a friend, could pull it off. No harm in trying...?

Crowley cleared his throat and aimed for a neutral tone. “By the way, what’s your mum’s name?”

“Mary,” Jack said.

Crowley didn’t quite know how to phrase the question to get the information he needed.

“What is... the rest of her name?” he said, hoping Jack would see where he was trying to go with the conversation.

“Oh, right. Mary Elizabeth Evans,” Jack said. “If you’re asking for your-”

(Crowley waited for Jack to say it, and he braced himself for the pain he’d likely feel.)

“-prayers.”

Crowley had closed his eyes in anticipation of burning, stinging, or possibly even spontaneous fire. But nothing happened. He was so shocked, he barely noticed Jack gently tapping him on the arm to get his attention.

“AJ? Sorry, is that why you wanted to know?” Jack asked.

“What? Yeah, of course,” Crowley said, still waiting for a pinch, a prod, even a little blister on his mouth. That was odd.

“That,” Jack was obviously trying very hard not to cry, and Crowley was trying very hard not to notice. “That means a whole lot to me.”

Crowley remembered how he’d held Aziraphale in his arms as the angel held back tears, and then how Bob had held him in his arms as he had cried in a dirty loo in a bar, of all places.

“Hey, it’s ok, mate,” Crowley reached out and gave Jack a quick hug, clapping him on the back just loud enough for a quiet sob to escape while leaving his dignity intact.

“Thank you, AJ.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for bringing me on here. I’ll do my best to behave.” Jack laughed a bit. Crowley noticed the bags under his eyes and felt a twinge in his chest.

“Want to close out the night?” Jack asked.

“What?”

“Ahh, I mean pick the last song and you know, send everyone off for the evening.”

“Ahh, sure, yeah. I can do that,” Crowley said. How the hell had it been four hours already?

“This is your new guardian of the groove, AJ Crowley, wishing all you...” - how in the literal hell had this gotten so far off the tracks already -

“angels and demons out there a funky Thursday night,” Crowley pulled forth a braggadocio from somewhere within him, swaying in front of the microphone and growling the phrase out onto the London airwaves. Jack raised his eyebrows and nodded while giving two thumbs up.

“Our last song for the night is...” Crowley made a split second decision based off the song titles, “If You Want Me Back, Baby, by People's Choice. I’ll look forward to sharing the best new music and taking your requests every Thursday night from nine to midnight. Until then,” Crowley dropped the needle on the record and a hearty, funky groove began to make its way over the London airwaves.

 _If you want me back, baby_  
_Girl, you’ve got to change your ways_

“That’s nice, haven't heard this one yet,” Jack said, bopping his head along.

Crowley shook Jack’s hand and once again clapped him on the back. “Thank you so much for bringing me on.”

“I really owe you one,” Jack said, as he picked up the bag of records he was taking with him.

“You absolutely don’t.”

Jack turned around. “I’ve got your number. I’ll... stay in touch?” he asked tentatively.

“I'd really like that,” Crowley said.

“I’ll see you around, AJ.” Crowley waved and watched him walk out the door. Hard to believe in less than five hours, Jack would be on a train, headed into an extremely difficult situation. Crowley found places to organize his records on the shelf and gathered up the equipment that would come home with him.

Once Crowley was back in the Bentley, he made a beeline for a place he hadn't been in decades.

 

* * *

 

Crowley parked the Bentley in an alley and made his way on foot to a secluded spot in St. James' Park that he used only for select night time activities. He'd never met anyone here; not Hastur, not Ligur, not even Aziraphale. He held a bag of salt and a white candle in his right hand, and kept anxiously scanning to see if anyone noticed him. Crowley eventually spotted a large plane tree and searched for a familiar cluster of rocks. To his relief, everything was still as he had left it in the 1940s.

He entered the clearing and began to make a circle with the salt. Crowley walked around three times, doing his best to make a consistent line of protection around the area in which he would be working. He set the candle on a smooth rock in the center, and stood for a few moments in silence before continuing. So far, he hadn't experienced too many negative effects with his recent brushes with divinity so... what was the worst that could happen?

“I ask for healing for Mary Elizabeth Evans, I ask to be used as a channel for this healing,” He opened his eyes and realized he'd forgotten to light the candle. Whoops. Crowley bent down and used his finger to light the candle in the center of the salt circle. Maybe he had phrased the initial ask incorrectly. Were you supposed to ask first or offer first, or... shit. Of course, he couldn't remember the exact way to word it. He sighed, and tried again:

“I humbly ask for a healing to take place, that I may be a vessel for the healing of-”

A giant flash of white light descended upon Crowley and knocked him flat to the ground before he could even cry out in surprise. The familiar smell of singed organic matter filled the air as Crowley slowly rolled over and clutched his head. To his surprise, his hair wasn't burnt at all; his sunglasses weren't even warm to the touch. Crowley looked around to see if anyone else was present, but the park was just as quiet as it had been before. It wasn't until he tried to stand that he realized the full extent of the damage; the soles of his boots had melted off and his feet were covered in blisters. Crowley touched the ground with his fingertips and realized the entire interior of the circle had been burnt to a crisp. He groaned, and used a demonic intervention to get himself and the Bentley back to Mayfair.

* * *

  
Crowley had to crawl to the phone. He was grateful when Aziraphale answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Angel,” his throat was a bit more sore than he'd realized, and the words came out as a croak.

“Are you all right over there?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah, everything's fine,” Crowley said, “I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tomorrow. At the Ritz.” He really hoped the answer would be -

“Oh, Crowley! What a lovely surprise. I'd be delighted.” The angel's excitement bubbled over the phone line, and Crowley smiled through the pain.

“How about six?” he asked.

“I will see you there,” Aziraphale said in his most pleased tone of voice.

Crowley hung up the phone and promptly fell asleep on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Radio Invicta is one of the most famous pirate radio stations in the world and I'm so excited to share details about this with you. Jack is a made up character, but Radio Invicta was very much real. Due to broadcast laws, there were only a few radio stations legally allowed to broadcast music at this time in Great Britain. I wrote myself into a bit of a dilemma with this and then ended up doing a shit ton of research to get myself out of it. 
> 
> Some notes about Radio Invicta: https://www.thepiratearchive.net/invicta/
> 
> AND an amazing live Christmas disco broadcast archived from Radio Invicta. Please listen to this: http://www.radioinvicta.com/audio-uploads/Steve%20Marshall%20from%20a%20Christmas%20broadcast%20in%201976%20campaigning%20for%20a%20national%20Soul%20show%20on%20BBC%20Radio%201.mp3
> 
> We're listening to some Northern Soul classics here: Darrell Banks - Angel Baby: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCbVz5A3bek
> 
> Ella Fitzgerald's version of Get Ready: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNoAcNEOaG0
> 
> The Pentagons - I Wonder If Your Love Will Ever Belong To Me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTc1_DjNUDQ
> 
> People's Choice (excellent EXCELLENT Philadelphia soul) If You Want Me Back: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rcVlgclVUwk


	11. No One Could Love You More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Crowley's attempt to perform a miracle. Aziraphale is beginning to ... feel things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my pal for beta-ing @trickshire (!!!)

Friday  
The Ritz

Crowley limped pathetically into the dining room a half hour before he'd told Aziraphale to meet him there. He brushed off two different waiters asking if he needed help, and had enough time to suck down a whisky on the rocks and get a bottle of wine ready at the table before Aziraphale arrived. Crowley thought he'd caught a look of confusion on the angel's face when he didn't stand up as usual to greet him, but he really wasn't in a position to put on much of a show. He faked it as best he could through dinner until Aziraphale accidentally kicked him under the table and he nearly dropped his wine glass.

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale said, “You don't seem quite yourself today. Is everything all right?”

“Listen, I need a favor,” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked over at him and Crowley saw the flash of disappointment cross his features.

“Ah, so that’s what one has to do to earn a meal at the Ritz these days?” His haughty tone shouldn’t have cut quite so deep, but it did. “I hope it’s not along the lines of the last favor I did for you.”

Crowley was surprised by how hurt he felt. He took a slow drink of wine to give himself a moment to respond.

“I asked you because I wanted to take you here,” he said, so softly that Aziraphale had to lean forward to hear him. “And the favor’s not for me.”

The angel’s face fell, and he immediately began to apologize.

“I’m truly sorry, Crowley. That was uncalled for and quite rude of-”

“Well, one of the favors is for me. The smaller of the two.”

“What sort of favor is it?”

“Nothing like the um, the other thing,” Crowley said. “A small favor. For you, at least.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and glanced around. “Fine. Let’s order some dessert first, though.”

Crowley couldn't get the waiter's attention by waving, or snapping, so he pushed his chair back and stood up. Big mistake. He'd already forgotten about the blisters on the soles of his feet, and he groaned loudly as he clutched the back of his chair for support. Aziraphale quickly stood up to help him and knocked over the carafe of water in the process; this did get the waiter’s attention. Aziraphale was able to order the chocolate torte while apologizing profusely for their mess in the way that only an angel could. By the time Crowley was seated again, the waiter had returned with a fresh pitcher of water and the chocolate torte, which was covered in gold leaf and embellished with fresh berries. Aziraphale took a few bites before fixing his gaze on Crowley.

“Crowley,” the questions hung in Aziraphale’s voice, “what's wrong? Why are you in pain?”

“That’s the small favor I need. I - ouch!- burnt my feet,” he said, wincing through the pain as he sat back down in his chair.

“And _how_ did you burn your feet?”

“Ummm,” Crowley really didn’t want to have to tell him, but he needed help. He took a steadying breath and finished the last of his wine. “I may have... tried to do something I shouldn't have.”

Aziraphale set down his fork and held Crowley's gaze. “What did you do.” (It wasn't phrased as a question)

“Angel, just let me explain.”

“Crowley, I've been around long enough to know that nothing good ever follows those words,” Aziraphale was staring at him now with that Look, and Crowley did not feel particularly good about where the conversation was heading. But he had to tell the truth.

“Okay, so I'm. As you know, I'm working in music now, and I've been... meeting a lot of people.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms and _glared_ at Crowley. Why was he acting so defensive? Crowley shook it off and continued.

“Anyways, I got a call from someone who asked me for a favor. He needed me to take over something for him, because his mum is really sick.”

The angel remained silent. All right. He was in it deep, then.

“So yeah. It's his mum, she's very sick. So sick that he had to leave everything he had in London behind and go back to take care of her, and he's really broken up about it. So I thought I'd just... try...” Crowley gestured loosely upwards with his hand. Aziraphale's eyes went wide and he tossed his napkin on the table.

“Are you honestly telling me you attempted to perform a miracle for this... You tried to? You attempted to _heal_ the _sick_?” Aziraphale spoke in the hushed whisper he employed when he was furious with Crowley.

“Yes, Angel, I was just trying to help-“

“You could have been killed! Not discorporated. Killed. _Destroyed_!” Aziraphale raised his voice and a few diners turned their heads. Crowley stared into the bottom of his empty wine glass. It had been a long time since he'd seen Aziraphale this upset.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said softly. He truly was; he could feel the fear and sadness radiating off Aziraphale, and he thought back to the first time he'd asked for Holy Water.

Aziraphale had brought his voice down, but the anger still carried through. “What in the _hell_ were you thinking? You know that is one of the holiest, Crowley, my goodness. That is one of the holiest tasks one can attempt. What would possess you to...” he put his face in his hands.

“I just, some strange stuff has been happening lately and I felt like it might not...” Crowley trailed off.

“What happened? What do you mean, 'strange'?”

“Give me some more wine, please, Angel,” Crowley held out his glass and Aziraphale topped him up. “When I was in Munich my...” - could he say that about her? Yes, he could - “friend Donna was in a show called Godspell, do you know it?”

Aziraphale shook his head no. Crowley wasn't surprised.

“Okay, it's a new musical, set to the Gospel of Matthew,” Crowley _was_ surprised that the words came out of his mouth with no heat, no pain, not even discomfort. “so lots of, uh... holy texts, right? I thought I was going to have to leave, or that I'd catch fire, but -”

“Crowley. Just a moment. _Just_ a moment,” it was rare for Aziraphale to cut him off quite like this, “You were able to sit and listen to a Gospel being read? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Yeah, I mean, but it's just a Gospel, it's not like it was around at the Beginning.”

“Crowley.”

“What?”

“You know you shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

“I guess? But lately I haven’t felt the effects of um... holiness quite as strongly. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Crowley said.

“So you decided it was a good idea to attempt a healing?”

Crowley shot him a sour look from over the top of his wine glass. “I didn't say it was a _good_ idea. I just wanted to help,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I'm your _friend_ ,” Crowley drawled it out, “so you're stuck with me.”

“I'm happy to do you a favor, both the favors, as long as you _promise_ me you won't try this again.”

Crowley let out a bitter chuckle, “I promise, Angel, I swear-”

“There's really no need to swear.” Aziraphale stood up and began moving his chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, we're not going to be able to make it back to the bookshop like this,” Aziraphale said as he scooted his chair directly next to Crowley's and sat down.

“Are you gonna do it here?”

“I think I rather have to do it here!” Aziraphale said, reaching down below the tablecloth. He placed his hand on Crowley's knee. “Unless you'd like to limp the entire way. I _could_ carry you out, but...”

Crowley couldn't help but laugh. “But what, Angel?”

“Well,” Aziraphale had a familiar doe-eyed look on his face, “people might talk.”

“All right, well. Go ahead, then. Heal me, if you don't mind.” Crowley closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the warmth of Aziraphale's hand on his knee. 'This is how friends touch one another, it's what I do with my friends,' he reminded himself. Crowley felt a jolt of energy through his body and finally, he could move his feet without pain.

“Ahh,” he said, stretching out and popping a few joints. “Thank you, Angel.”

“You're certain I didn't hurt you?” Aziraphale asked, brows furrowed.

“Nope, not at all. Right as rain.” Crowley couldn't quite figure out why Aziraphale's face was still contorted in confusion, and he decided not to worry too much about it.

* * *

  
Driving was a much more pleasant experience with the full use of both of his feet, and Crowley was in a much better mood by the time they walked through the front door of the bookshop. He wasted no time in sprawling out on the sofa while Aziraphale insisted upon breaking out a few bottles of Crowley's favorite Bordeaux.

“Wow, all for me, Angel?” Crowley asked playfully.

Aziraphale shot him a wink. “Well, I was hoping you'd be so gracious as to share with me.”

“Of course. What's the sense in drinking alone?” asked Crowley, who often drank alone as a way to process his emotions.

Aziraphale popped on a Dusty Springfield record, and they slipped into familiar, easy conversation through both sides of the album and three bottles of Bordeaux. When the silence hit at the end of the second side, Crowley stood up and stumbled over towards the console.

“Careful there,” Aziraphale set down his glass and went to steady Crowley, gently folding his arms around his slender frame.

“'m fine, Angel.” There was only so much physical contact with the angel he could handle in one day.

“Are you feeling worn out from the healing, perhaps?”

What a graceful option for an exit. “Oh, yeah, you're right. I think that's probably it.” Crowley looked at the console and noticed a switch labeled FM.

“Does the radio on this work?” Crowley asked.

“Of course it does!” Aziraphale said proudly.

Crowley tuned the dial to 92.4 and a long hiss of static rolled over the speakers, followed by a jingle for Radio Invicta:

 _You get the very best in soul_  
_on your radio_  
_The very best in soul_  
_Ninety-two point four_

“Mmm,” Crowley sprawled out on the sofa and leaned against the armrest, “that's a really nice thingy there.”

“A nice what?”

“I don't remember what it's called when they... when they...” Crowley's head was spinning from the combination of good wine, healed feet, and proximity to his angel.

“Are you all right, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

“I'm fine, Angel. Just a bit worn out,” Crowley said as he laid down and stretched out to his full length.

Aziraphale made a soft, small cooing voice in the back of his throat, and Crowley thought he might actually die.

“Why don't you just lay down and have a little rest, then.”

“But – the miracle -” Crowley jammed his hand into his pocket and handed Aziraphale a piece of paper. “That's her name. You promise you'll do it?”

“Of course I will,” Aziraphale said, “just... rest your eyes for a little bit.”

He was too tired to even murmur a protest, and barely remembered falling asleep to Tammi Terrell's voice...

 _If you want it, better come and get it_  
_Baby, come on and see me_

 

* * *

 

It was nearing midnight. Crowley was snoring gently on the sofa, and Aziraphale was overcome with desires: to gently brush his hair off his forehead, to place a soft kiss there, to climb up next to him and, and, and, desire after desire... This was new. He was in dangerous territory now. Aziraphale had always found ways to cope with his feelings for Crowley. He'd tried pretending they didn't exist, then moved on to ignoring them, and finally arrived at the place where he shamelessly funneled them into his experiences with humans. Aziraphale had never quite been able to hide it entirely; he'd never had a lover who hadn't picked up on the fact that at least part of his body and soul was somewhere else.

He walked over to the sofa and looked down at Crowley. It was always so easy to forget how delicate he was, what with all the exterior armor and posturing. His features looked so lovely in the low light, and Aziraphale watched the rise and fall of his chest a few times before following the line of his open collar to a patch of exposed skin. He thought he saw a dusting of freckles there, but he knew it wasn't right to continue staring. The crackling of static over the radio interrupted his train of thought. He went to turn it off, but decided he might as well listen to whatever was coming.

“You've been listening to Radio Invicta, Soul Over London, 92.4. It's time for us to sign off for the night. We're gonna close it out for you with a classic, Gladys Knight & The Pips, No One Could Love You More. Thanks for tuning in.” A keyboard gave way to a woman's voice, singing freely and strongly:

 _No one could love you more, my baby_  
_No one could love you more, my sweet baby_

Aziraphale hadn't ever heard a song quite like this; insistent, pleading, and soulful. He found himself swaying to the beat as he made his way over to his desk and prepared to work. It was considered a routine, straightforward miracle for a Principality to heal the sick, one he'd done hundreds of thousands of times before. Aziraphale could recite the specific words backwards and forwards without even blinking; he didn't even have to utter them aloud for the process to be effective. He opened up the piece of paper Crowley had given him and focused on the name at hand, Mary Elizabeth Evans. He briefly thought about turning the music off, but he didn't feel like getting up, and besides, it wouldn't matter. He'd practically done this in his sleep.

 _No, no one could love you more_  
_(No one could love you more)_  
_No one could love you more (No!)_

Aziraphale cracked his neck and closed his eyes. He began his usual process, but he was not prepared for the incredible surge of emotion that flooded his body while performing a (holy, but standard) miracle he'd done so many times before. A stream of memories flashed through his mind; he recalled the first time he'd healed someone, and most surprisingly, he remembered the duties he'd performed before he coming to Earth. He had been responsible for gathering, keeping, and compiling information and knowledge; he'd been allowed to have his own system for ensuring everything was in order and oh, how he had loved it. As he neared the end of the healing, the music soared to match his heightened energy and he felt tears creeping forth from the corners of his eyes. This had _never_ happened before; he suspected the music might be having an effect on him. How beautiful it was:

 _No one could love you more than me_  
_and still be human, it's an impossibility_

Miracle completed, Aziraphale got up to turn off the radio, which was now broadcasting soft static. He gazed at Crowley and was completely overcome with a wave of fondness so strong that he couldn't help but reach out and carefully sweep a few stray hairs off his forehead. Crowley let out a soft sigh, but didn't wake up. He continued to stare for a moment more and then remembered his train of thought.

Aziraphale had an entire collection of books that held theories and doctrines on fallen angels, collections of works that attempted to answer questions like whether they could regain or preserve their divinity. He couldn't remember exactly when he'd started collecting them, but they took up a significant amount of space in a private corner of the bookshop. He walked over to find a specific text, _After the Loss of Divinity_ , and brought it back to his desk. The angel settled into his favorite chair with a slight wiggle and proceeded to read until the sun rose over London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Radio Invicta jingle I used for this fic is at about 0:45, but listen to all the jingles!!! They're all amazing and my favorite one is just after it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SSd4geHnts
> 
> I'm taking liberties with when Radio Invicta was broadcasting as it seemed they weren't on the air all the time, but ... I'm doing my best. :)
> 
> The Dusty Springfield album Aziraphale loves is called "Ooooooweeee!" It's on Spotify and here is a wonderful track from it being performed live "Losing You" https://youtu.be/95Xd8bgXLLA
> 
> Tammi Terrell "Come On And See Me": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOY-VTz9V4c
> 
> Gladys Knight & The Pips. Wow. I'm busy filing a police report against myself for not going deeper into her catalog until now. 
> 
> No One Could Love You More: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnGavsKcANs
> 
> I'm still working on the Spotify playlist! But it's coming. I promise.


	12. Deep Inside Our Love, We Feel The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is frustrated that Crowley is no longer free on Thursday nights. Crowley has a big night on the air at Radio Invicta. And a new musical legend enters the picture!
> 
> This is where we earn that Explicit rating! I am a genderfluid person -- and in this fic both Aziraphale and Crowley will be depicted with all sorts of different 'Efforts,' please mind this moving forward. I will mark all chapters that are explicit beforehand if you don't care to read it, some of it is central to the plot so mind that moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLAYLIST IS UP Y'ALL
> 
> THE PEOPLE HAVE ASKED  
> THE PEOPLE SHALL RECEIVE
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0t911JSMifCB8sXZkGX59R?si=1QATGI_CQDKDFpYmdbsmZw
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again to @trickshire for beta-ing :)

Wednesday 26 November, 1975  
London

A few months into his DJ stint, Crowley had settled into a new routine. He often went record shopping on Saturday or Sunday afternoons and would take the next few days to absorb new music. Tuesday and Wednesday were spent finalizing the set list; on Thursdays, he'd discovered a little spot near Radio Invicta that made an excellent espresso. Crowley wasn't generally that into food and (nonalcoholic) beverages, but a truly magnificent coffee had always been his exception to the rule. He'd pop in, suck down an espresso, and then head up to the studio with his small satchel full of records. Occasionally a record or two would be waiting at the radio for him; receiving free records in the mail was quickly becoming one of his favorite things.

Crowley was listening to Stevie Wonder when the phone rang. He turned the volume on the record player down and then headed to his desk.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hello AJ, it's Jack.”

“Jack! Hey, hello,” Crowley didn't bother to hide his enthusiasm. “How are things with you, mate?”

“You know, things are going well. Quite well, my mum, thought you might want to know, she's taken quite a turn for the better,” Jack said earnestly. “Nothing short of a miracle.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, AJ, it's, whatever it was that happened, I'm grateful.”

Crowley was grinning at this point. “I'm really happy to hear that, Jack, really. Have you been able to listen in at all?”

“Oh yeah! I've been down to London for a few long weekends since my mum started doing better. Whenever I'm here, I'm listening.”

“Ah, are you in town now? Got any requests for tonight?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, I'm in town for a day or so before I head back up. Play some Aretha Franklin for me. I haven't heard nearly enough lately.”

Crowley knew Jack had left a few Aretha Franklin records at the station. “I can do that.”

“Ahh, that's excellent, I'll look forward to it. And I'm still stuck in Manchester at the moment, but if my mum's condition keeps up, I'll be able to spend part of my time back in London,” Crowley suspected Jack might want his DJ set back at some point.

“Right, did you-” Crowley paused. He was truly enjoying this, but he had picked it up as a favor to a friend. Perhaps it would be appropriate to offer it back -

“Oh no, no,” Jack cut him off. “I'm not asking for Thursdays back. My mum's a lot better, you know, but she is getting on in years. I don't see a way that I can be in London full time.”

“Ah, um, well-”

“I just wanted to let you know, if you ever wanted a break or wanted me to cover for you, that in a few months I'll probably be able to do that. So long as you leave records at Radio Invicta,” Jack clarified.

Oh. _OH_. “Oh, that's quite kind of you, Jack,” Crowley bit his lip, but the word 'kind' felt more at home in his mouth than it ever had.

“And if you don't want to-”

“No, it would be good to know you could take over, in case I get-” - in case I need to take my best _friend_ out on a date?- “-called in to a session or anything. Unpredictable business, music.”

“Yeah, yeah. All right, well, I won't keep you long, just wanted to give you an update.”

“I'm glad you did, let me know when you're down next, we could maybe,” Crowley gathered the courage to continue, “grab a pint or something.”

“Ey, I'd like that, AJ. I know a spot over in Brixton that has an incredible Soul night,” Jack sounded excited.

“Yeah? Okay, yeah. That sounds like fun. Give me a heads-up next time you're down then.”

“I definitely will, AJ, and I'll be listening in tonight. Great to catch up with ya.”

Crowley smiled and instinctively raised his sunglasses to cover his exposed eyes. “Absolutely, Jack. Hope to get that pint sooner rather than later.”

Jack laughed. “Me too, mate. I sure could use it! Have a good set up there.”

“Thanks. Take care,” Crowley set the phone down and turned the music back up, smiling the whole time.

 _Ey, everybody needs a change_  
_A chance to check out the new_  
_But you're the only one to see_  
_The changes you take yourself through_

Crowley had barely made his way back to penciling out his set when he thought he heard ringing; this time, he snapped his fingers to lift the needle from the record. Indeed, it was the phone. Two calls in twenty minutes? He typically didn't even get this many calls when he was DJing.

“Hello?”

His favorite voice was on the line. “Crowley? Are you all right?”

“Uh, of course, Angel, I'm doing great. Are _you_ okay?”

Aziraphale huffed on the other end of the line. “Of course I'm okay.”

“Mrrrt,” Crowley made a grumbling noise and cocked his head to the side the way he often did when Aziraphale said something he didn't understand.

“I tried to call earlier and the line was busy,” the angel continued, sounding incredibly put out.

“Oh,” Crowley said. He couldn't figure out why Aziraphale seemed to be so annoyed. “Jack gave me a call earlier.”

The silence was so pronounced, Crowley momentarily thought he'd lost Aziraphale.

“Jack, you know, my mate, Jack. The person you did the uh, the _favor_. For his mum, remember? Thank you again for that, by the way.”

“Ahh, yes. Happy to. It was a small favor, really.” The angel's normally cheerful demeanor returned. “Well, I was wondering if you might want to join me tomorrow evening. I've got tickets to the opera.”

Why did it seem like Aziraphale had been hell-bent on trying to make plans with him every other Thursday night for the past few months?

“Tomorrow's not going to work. I've uh-” why couldn't he just come out and say it? “got a thing.”

There was a very long pause before Aziraphale answered coolly, “I see.”

“I'm free tomorrow though, no plans at all,” Crowley quickly offered.

“It's no bother, really. I don't want to impose,” Aziraphale said. “Have a nice time. With your _thing_.”

“You sure I can't take you out Friday night instead? My treat.”

“It's fine, really,” - it was clearly not fine - “Enjoy yourself.”

Crowley set the phone back in its cradle and just stared at it for a while before snapping his fingers to restart one of the best albums he'd heard in a while.

 _Don't you worry 'bout a thing_  
_Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama_

“Well, all right then,” he said to himself. Crowley sighed. At another time in his existence, he might have moped, sulked, or brooded for a few days, but right now? He had a set list to assemble. Perhaps he'd give Aziraphale a call after he finished up at the station tomorrow. Or he could always just stop by with chocolates, or wine, and hope for the best. But it would have to wait.

 

* * *

 

Thursday, 27 November 1975  
London

Aziraphale was in a rotten mood. He was attempting to stave it off with truffles (the posh kind, not the chocolate ones) and a night on the town with a gentleman who'd been asking him out for months. Halfway through dinner, his date reached for his hand over the table and Aziraphale could only manage a grimace. He couldn't even remember the man's name; his mind was elsewhere, as it always was when he engaged in these activities.

“If you don't want to be here...” was all his date (Jim? John?) could get out before Aziraphale hurriedly cut him off.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said, “my mind appears to be elsewhere, and it doesn't quite feel fair to be here. For either of us, really.”

“Right.” His date looked absolutely crestfallen.

“I'll pick up the check, of course. And I am, I'm sorry.” Aziraphale felt a twinge of guilt. He knew better than to be doing this right now.

“I hope he realizes what he has in you,” the man said as he pushed his chair away from the table and tossed his napkin over his half-finished plate.

Aziraphale let out a long breath and closed his eyes; it was all for the best. He was in need of a bit of time to himself tonight.

* * *

 

Aziraphale was glad he had chosen a restaurant close to the bookshop; it was only a few minutes before he was back in his cozy nook with a 1928 Krug champagne. He had been saving it for a special occasion but at this point, taking the damn edge off was close enough. He was a just a _touch_ jealous of whatever (or whoever) was taking up Crowley's Thursday nights, even if he hated to admit it. After two glasses of the fabled bubbly, Aziraphale had calmed down enough to pick out a record and a book. He sighed dramatically as he put the record on the turntable. It started spinning without a problem, but no sound was coming out. He huffed and rolled his eyes, then turned it off and back on again. Still, no music. He fiddled with the function switch. He unplugged it. He even tried another record.

Finally, Aziraphale's patience ran out and he tried yelling. “ _Why_ isn't this _blasted_ thing _working_?” He slammed his fist down on the console and the fussy switch clicked over to FM. An upbeat jingle with a punchy bass line flowed from the speakers:

  
_Radio!_  
_Radio Invicta_  
_Radio!_  
_Radio Invicta_  
_Go on to ninety-two point four_

Ahh. He didn't ever use the radio, so it had stayed where Crowley had set it months ago. Aziraphale was about to switch it back over to listen to Judy Collins when a familiar voice drifted over the speakers. Could it be-? Was it really-?

“A very good evening to all you angels and demons out there, welcome to Anything Goes Thursdays.”

Aziraphale sucked down the rest of his champagne and set the flute down with trembling hands.

“I'm AJ Crowley, your guardian of the groove from nine to midnight, and you're listening to 92.4, Radio Invicta, the home of Soul Over London.”

So that was why Crowley had suddenly been mysteriously unavailable on Thursday nights. Aziraphale felt a bit of shame creep up about how he'd behaved on the phone yesterday.

“Well, my friends, you know that I can't ever resist a little miracle, so our next song is just that: this is “We Feel The Same,” by The Miracles, from their excellent album, 'Do It Baby.' So lean back, get comfortable, and feel the soul.” A bass and drum riff kicked off the track, and gorgeous soaring harmony vocals joined soon after.

He had never heard Crowley's voice quite like this; he sounded confident, smooth, even tempting, but what truly shocked the angel was how _comfortable_ Crowley sounded. Aziraphale was so overwhelmed, he could only stand and stare at the speakers as though Crowley might soon be stepping through them.

 _Same thing_  
_We feel (the same thing)_  
_Whoa, oh baby (wah-wah-wah)_

Aziraphale couldn't help but sway back and forth to the music; it seemed he lost the beat every few measures, but he was doing his best. The music was so warm and rich. It wrapped around him with the same feeling as a soft and cozy coat in the middle of winter, or the comfort of a particularly excellent and familiar meal. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his sleeves, sliding them up to just below his elbows. And he surprised himself by running his hands down his thick thighs, noting the way his body moved in response to the music.

 _If one of us gets hurt, you know we both feel the pain, just the same_  
_Baby, this is just a little misunderstanding_  
_Cause deep inside our love, we feel the same thing_  
_Oh, deep inside our love, we feel the same thing_

Aziraphale hurriedly undid the buttons on his waistcoat and tossed it over the back of a chair. He poured himself another glass of champagne and decided to miracle up another bottle and a bucket of ice. By the time he'd settled in a bit more, the song had ended, and Crowley's voice was once again on the air.

“Now this next song is a real treat. It's brand new, just been released, and it's going to be, well, I think it's going to be huge. And that's _not_ just because the singer is a friend of mine,” Crowley's voice was like honey over the airwaves, but not the translucent, sugary stuff found in packets at restaurants, or in little bear shaped containers in the shops.

Aziraphale tried dark honey while in Portugal sometime before the first World War. The bees foraged on the wild flowers and herbs, and the resulting honey was thick, opaque and unlike anything he'd ever seen before. The taste bordered on medicinal, complex, in a way that almost rendered it too difficult to enjoy. Once he'd gotten over his initial shock at tasting rosemary and thyme instead of the familiar cloying sweetness, he dragged his finger through the comb and sucked it down without any regard for the mess it made. At one point, Aziraphale thought he might lose himself inside that honeycomb, and he felt the same way listening to Crowley's sultry voice floating over the speakers. When had Crowley started speaking like this? What had he been missing out on for all these years? Why did it feel like the room kept getting warmer and warmer? He slipped his shoes off and then decided to lose the socks, too.

“You heard that right, this is a seventeen-minute song, so you're going to want to,” Crowley let out a low chuckle that seemed to land right below Aziraphale's ear, “get comfortable, perhaps with someone you love, and enjoy the sensual serenade of, 'Love to Love You Baby,' the new track from Donna Summer.”

He did as Crowley instructed and flopped down on the sofa.

 _Ahh, love to love you baby_  
_Ahh, love to love you baby_

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. Was the singer - How on earth were they able to play this on the radio?

 _When you're laying so close to me,_  
_there's no place I'd rather you be_  
_than with me, here with me – oh!_

The breathy moan was what finally pushed the angel over the edge. “I just can't take this anymore,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath as he licked his fingers and slipped his hand down his pants to attend to the needs making themselves known. He took his middle and index fingers and began rubbing his clit in firm, steady circles. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this pent up. It only took a few moments before his thighs began to quiver and the familiar heat began to build up just below his navel.

 _Do it to me again and again_  
_You put me in such an awful spin_  
_In a spin, in – oh!_

Aziraphale came so fast and so hard, he was honestly a bit disappointed. He tried to stand up to get out of his trousers and pants, and his vision went black around the edges. He tried leaning back against the couch; his ears were ringing and he felt dizzy. As he caught his breath, the background vocals and sobs of ecstasy faded out into a simple bass line. Hmm. Crowley said the song was a good seventeen minutes long, hadn't he? Aziraphale wriggled out of his pants and trousers, then unbuttoned his shirt and removed his undershirt. He laid flat on the couch and wiggled around a bit until he was comfortable. The drums and guitar began to join in with the bass and the energy of the song started building back up. Aziraphale snapped his fingers to dim the lights in the bookshop.

“Mmm, I've got plenty of time for another,” he said to himself as he stroked his hands up his inner thighs and slowly back to his still-pulsing clit.

 

* * *

 

Crowley stepped away from the turntables to find the right song to close out the night. This track would play for the next thirteen or so minutes, so he only needed one more. Oh! He'd almost forgotten Jack's request. He scanned the wall until he found an Aretha Franklin record he'd never heard, 'Spirit in the Dark.' Crowley set it down next to the turntable and went to gaze out the window at the city. Hard to believe that he was playing music that was being broadcast all over London at this moment. Before he could continue his reflections on the past few months, the phone in the studio rang.

Crowley picked up. “Yeah, hello, this is Radio Invicta.”

“Hi, wow, mind telling me again what's playing right now?”

“It's called 'Love to Love You Baby,' and it's by Donna Summer.”

As soon as Crowley set the phone down, it rang again, and again, and again. He'd never gotten so many calls during a set before. People were absolutely losing their minds over this song; Crowley even answered one call where the only sounds he heard on the line were ecstatic moans very similar to those on the track. 'I've got to call Donna as soon as I get home,' he thought as he began scratching tally marks on the back of an envelope.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale was splayed out on the sofa, dragging the fingers of one hand slowly up and down over his clit and stroking his chest with the other. He imagined Crowley holding out the honeycomb filled with that dark honey, offering it directly up to his lips.

“Please, Crowley, take _care_ of me,” he'd say; he had no issues with begging for what he desired. And Crowley would ask, “what do you want?” Then Aziraphale would take his hand and place it between his legs until those long fingers dipped down to feel the slick just on the edge of dripping out of his cunt. Aziraphale liked to imagine that at this point Crowley might gasp, or moan, or throw a skinny leg overtop him to pull him closer.

“Is this what you want, Angel?” Every hair on Aziraphale's neck stood on end as he imagined Crowley breathing the question directly into his ear, licking his neck, then dropping passionate kisses over his cheeks and down his jawline.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said the words aloud as he reached inside himself with two fingers and spread more of his slick all over his clit. He buried his other hand inside his cunt and reached upwards to put a bit of pressure on his g-spot. “ _Ahh_.”

And maybe Crowley would drip a bit of the honey onto the hollows of his collarbones and lick it all off his skin so not a trace of stickiness remained. Aziraphale thought of Crowley, his long and muscular form, on top of him, fingers deep in his cunt, stroking gently and steadily upwards, while sucking marks into his neck and, oh, and then... he was so close.

“Wow, what a journey! That was the brand new track from Donna Summer, ‘Love To Love You Baby.’”

“Ahh!” he saw stars, lights, and galaxies as Crowley's voice came back over the airwaves. Aziraphale was spasming over his own fingers, gasping as he rode out his second orgasm.

“I got quite a few phone calls from you lot during this song, and all I have to say is... wow. Take some time to cool down with me here, or maybe not! I don't know, it's up to you.”

Aziraphale flipped over and moaned into a pillow.

“We're gonna close it out tonight with a request from my mate Jack, you may know him as the incredible DJ who was on this time slot before me. It's a song from the one and only Aretha Franklin, this is called 'Spirit in the Dark,' from the album of the same name. Once again, you've been listening to Radio Invicta, 92.4. A big thank you to everyone listening in tonight. Take care of yourselves, and I'll be with you again same time next week.”

Crowley placed the needle on the record and took off his headphones. He popped his neck and then added up how many calls he'd gotten during Donna's song. Final tally? Fifteen. It would have been more if the station had another line; almost everyone who got through said they'd reached a busy signal. He smiled as he imagined Donna's reaction. Crowley knew the song was going to be big. He definitely had to call her, but at the moment, there was someone else he needed to call first. Crowley picked up the phone and dialed the bookshop.

 

* * *

 

At the same time  
100 Holland Road  
Kensington, London

“BRIAN!” A gorgeous man with long brown hair and perfect eyebrows burst into the living room wearing a silk floral robe and cuddling a giant Persian cat. With his free hand, he pointed at the man with a giant mess of dark curls. The blonde woman sitting next to him rolled her eyes as she stood up.

“FREDDIE!” Brian yelled back.

“MARY!” Freddie extended his hand to her and pulled her in to sling his arm around her shoulders. She giggled and brushed her bangs out of her face.

Brian held up his hands. “Yes?”

“Who the _hell_ is DJ-ing tonight on Radio Invicta, and why the hell haven't I heard this before?” Freddie scrunched his eyebrows together in a dramatic display of faux anger before breaking down into giggles.

“I heard earlier, it's some guy named AJ Crowley, he took over Jack's night after his mum got sick,” Brian said.

“Find out how to get in touch with him. See if he'll DJ for the Christmas party,” Freddie said.

“Oh, that's a wonderful idea,” Mary added. “I think that would be such a lovely time.”

“Just make sure he's not allergic to cats.”

* * *

 

At the same time  
The Bookshop  
London

Aziraphale fanned himself rapidly and miracled himself a towel to wipe the sweat off his face and chest.

“Oh my... _fuck_.” He wasn't exactly fully sated, but his extended self-love session had worn him out in the best possible way.

Then the phone rang. No one ever called at this hour of night, except Crowley. But surely he wouldn't be calling right now; Aziraphale had just heard him speaking on the radio.

“Hello?”

“Angel? It's me,” Oh, heavens. It was Crowley.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Crowley, please hold on just one moment. I can't really hear you,” Aziraphale snapped his fingers to shut off the music before Crowley could hear anything over the line. He carried the phone over and sat back down on the sofa.

“Blasting the Partridge Family's greatest hits again?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale could barely catch his breath. “Oh, uh, no, actually. Just listening to a little um, a bit of musical theater.”

“How was the opera?”

 _Shit_. “Absolutely lovely, a really wonderful time,” Aziraphale lied through gritted teeth. Oh, this was going to catch up with him someday.

“Listen, I just wanted to,” Crowley paused. “I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry I wasn't able to go with you tonight. I was hoping you'd let me make it up to you tomorrow.”

Aziraphale was still fully nude, sitting in a damp spot of his own creation on the sofa, and he was completely overwhelmed by hearing Crowley's voice, that deep honeyed voice, so soon after having two incredible orgasms while fantasizing about him. He couldn't even stammer out an “um” or an “oh.”

“Or, you know. Another day, if tomorrow doesn't work for you,” Crowley continued.

“No!” It came out more forcefully than the angel intended. “I mean, no. But – yes. It's fine, dear. Tomorrow is, tomorrow would be marvelous.” Aziraphale dabbed his forehead with the towel.

“All right, then. You wanna pick the place and give me a call tomorrow?”

“I – yes. I will do that, Crowley. It's very,” Aziraphale so badly wanted to tell Crowley how kind he was, but he just wasn't sure how it would be received. He cleared his throat and changed course.

“I'm so glad you called.” At least it was the truth. It shouldn't be possible for anyone (even an angel) to _hear_ a smile, but Aziraphale was certain, in that moment, that he did.

“Yeah,” Crowley's voice was so tender when he spoke to him. Had it always been like this? “Me too. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Good night,” Aziraphale hung up the phone and closed his eyes. It was true he rarely slept; it was also true he was rarely so worn out. He pulled the blanket over his body and let himself drift for a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this tonight for @trickshire so I'll add more notes later or tomorrow!
> 
> We're listening to Innervisions by Stevie Wonder, "Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing"
> 
> The Miracles - We Feel The Same (this whole album, 'Do It Baby' is absolutely incredible)
> 
> Aretha Franklin - Spirit In The Dark
> 
> All songs will be added back onto the playlist as they appear. 
> 
> Freddie Mercury lived at 100 Holland Road. He was a fan of Aretha Franklin and also loved his cats so very much.  
> https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2018/11/freddie-mercury-and-his-love-affair-with-his-cats
> 
> I also want to take a moment to point out that Freddie called himself a bisexual. Here is some additional info about Mary Austin and who she was to Freddie. I think it's really important to listen to & respect the ways in which queer people have described themselves throughout time. It's often easier to put people into boxes than it is to listen to the ways in which they describe themselves.  
> https://allthatsinteresting.com/mary-austin  
> https://www.smoothradio.com/features/mary-austin-freddie-mercury-now/
> 
> I also think it's really important to remember that, for all the people we lost to AIDS, many of them have friends & partners & close family members who are still alive today. None of this is ancient history.


	13. You Don't Know What It Means To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, you can't have a good slow burn without some angst. Please note new warnings for canon-typical suicidal ideation; there isn't anything explicitly expressing suicidal feelings in here, just our favorite lovesick demon driving a bit too fast. I think Crowley acts with disregard for his own life sometimes, and that's what I'm referring to here. 
> 
> Nothing sexually explicit in this chapter either. 
> 
> This chapter got too huge so I split it into two parts, that means another chapter is likely coming very soon too. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and following along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my good bud @trickshire for beta-ing and being an all-around excellent dude.

Friday, 19 December 1975  
Radio Invicta  
(undisclosed location)  
London

It was Thursday night, so Crowley was at Radio Invicta. Well, technically it was Friday; it was well past 1am, and Crowley was pacing in front of the giant wall of vinyl. He’d brought a few crates with him to pack up the records he would need for the most important set of his existence thus far: he was going to _Freddie fucking Mercury_ 's house to DJ his annual Christmas party. Crowley thought the message on his answering machine was a prank until he got two more identical messages from someone calling themselves Freddie’s “entertainment manager.” His anxiety had been through the roof ever since, and at this point, he'd nearly chewed a hole in his lip.

Crowley hadn’t realized an actual person lived in the flat that served as Radio Invicta’s headquarters until the third time he’d been on the air. He was packing up his stuff when a man emerged from the back room, went to the kitchen, and started making himself a cup of tea. Crowley was so startled, he dropped his bag directly onto his foot. Yes, he was an eternal being occupying a corporeal form, and yes, it hurt like an absolute bitch. The man who lived in the flat made him sit down and ice it before introducing himself as Roger. He’d then insisted Crowley have a cup of tea, as it certainly couldn’t hurt, and then asked if he wanted to stay and listen to more music. Crowley, who didn’t technically even need to sleep and never had any set plans, agreed enthusiastically, and they’d stayed up until 4am trading off who got to pick the next record.

“You don’t really need to worry so much,” Roger said from the kitchen. “You’re making a bit of a name for yourself. Just take what you like. You like a lot of good shit, you know.”

Crowley groaned. “Right, uh. I’m DJing for Freddie _fucking_ Mercury.”

Roger laughed. “Doesn’t matter. He loves soul. He loves funk. He’ll love everything you’ve got.”

Crowley did one more pass over the wall before throwing his hands in the air. “All right, all right. I think this is fine.” He stacked the crates on top of each other in the small wheeled cart and headed towards the door.

“Oh! AJ, before you go. Are you gonna be here next week?”

Crowley frowned. “Yeah, uh, why wouldn't I be?”

Roger cocked his head. “Because it's... Christmas Day?”

“Oh, right. I mean, I don't have any plans.” At least, Crowley was pretty sure he didn't have any plans. If Aziraphale ended up wanting to do something, he could go over there afterwards, but they'd never done anything together on a holiday.

“You sure, AJ?” Roger asked. “It would be a huge favor. We were gonna go dark for the day, cause I’ve got to be with family but, hmm. It would be real nice to have music going on Christmas, I think. People would probably enjoy that, yeah?”

Crowley had no idea. “Absolutely. It's no problem. What if I did say, 4pm to midnight? Is there enough time to let people know?”

Roger nodded. “Yeah, the people who will want to on Christmas are already listening all day. I'll make an announcement about it and get a flyer up in here for all the DJs. Have you got a key?”

“A key? You mean to your flat? No.”

Roger rummaged around in a drawer for a bit and then handed Crowley a set of keys.

“Square one gets you into the building, round one’s for the flat.”

Crowley stared at the keys in his hand. Not once had anyone ever trusted him with the key to their home. He closed his fingers around the keys and stared at Roger. “Are you _sure_ you want me to have these?”

“How else are you gonna get in here on Christmas Day? My mum asked me to be at the house starting Christmas Eve to help her with everything.”

“Right, but this is your _flat_ and-”

“Oh, shut up,” Roger said fondly. He gestured to the living room with a full cup of tea and sloshed a bit of it out onto the floor. “I know you’d never let anything happen to these records.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Good point.”

“Just play whatever the hell you want,” Roger added. “And thank you. Really. Thank you for being here.”

“It's my pleasure,” Crowley said. He ran his fingers over the zigzag edges of the keys again and again; the repeated gesture helped to calm his thoughts. If Roger trusted him with the flat, the broadcasting equipment, and most of all, the _records_... Oh! The records. Crowley ran back into the living room to grab one last album he'd forgotten: Jackie Wilson's 'Beautiful Day.'

“All right. I think I'm as ready as I'm ever gonna be,” Crowley said.

“They're gonna love it. I expect a full report back next time I see you.” Roger patted Crowley on the shoulder and opened the door for him.

“Right, then.” Crowley felt his limbs get a little tingly as he walked down the hall and into the elevator. He was really going to do this. He stared down at the crates of records and smiled.

“I know you lot won't let me down.”

* * *

  
Wednesday 24 December 1975  
Christmas Eve  
The Bookshop  
Soho, London

 

Aziraphale was practically buzzing with excitement. He'd gotten a new vest and jacket for the occasion. He hadn't quite understood all the details about where they were going, or why Crowley was so nervous about playing music for other people. It had become an occasional habit for them in the past few years, and Aziraphale typically enjoyed the music Crowley brought over, even if it was slightly outside of his normal tastes. And ever since he'd discovered Crowley's weekly DJ sets on Radio Invicta, he was starting to have, um, _other_ associations with the sort of music Crowley often wanted to share. He ran his hands down his sides and remembered how much fun he'd had with himself during Crowley's last set. (His knees wobbled a bit.) He took one last look at himself in the mirror, tweaked his paisley bowtie a touch, and headed downstairs. Crowley would be here to pick him up in about ten minutes.

Aziraphale walked briskly to the front of the shop to make sure the doors were locked and ran directly into his immediate supervisor, who was holding a book upside down.

“Gabriel!” What in the _hell_ was he doing here, right now? Aziraphale's heart began to pound against his ribs. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“A _zi_ raphale.” Gabriel said his name the same way, every single time. “How _are_ you?”

“I'm doing quite all right, and you? How are you? How's uh, everyone?”

He clapped his hands together. “You know, I'm doing wonderful. Absolutely fantastic. Just dropped by so we could do our check in.”

“Our, um. Excuse me?”

“It’s the end of the year, remember? Our check in, you know, the short one we typically do every year?” He held up his hands.

“Ahh, of course. Yes. The time passes in such a different way down here,” Aziraphale fidgeted with the chain on his pocket watch.

“Right. Humans.”

“Um, yes. And being here,” Aziraphale gestured around. "You know how it is."

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” Gabriel asked.

“Plans for tomorrow?” Aziraphale stuttered over the words. “Um, no, not that I can remember, no. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Gabriel stared at Aziraphale.“I know tomorrow is important, but as it wasn't a part of everything at The Beginning-”

  
“It's not _necessary_ for you to have plans for the day.”

Aziraphale glanced up at the clock behind Gabriel and hoped he didn't notice. Gabriel did notice. He turned around and pointed at the clock. “Oh. Do you have plans tonight? Am I keeping you?”

“ _No_ ,” Aziraphale didn't intend for it to come out quite like that, “No. I do have plans to, to _work_ on these holy days -”

“Oh? Well, that's wonderful. You know how She loves when we work miracles on holy days.”

“Ah, yes. It’s just that I normally close the shop around now. I'm going to go, and uh, lock up. I'd hate for us to be interrupted by a customer.”

Gabriel smiled again. “Of course.”

Aziraphale scribbled a frantic note and taped it to the door. He started to panic as he envisioned Crowley strolling into the shop asking him if he was ready to go to dinner. Hopefully Gabriel would be gone before too long.

* * *

  
Crowley headed to the bookshop in a wonderful mood. He had the radio on to a random “top hits” countdown and was pleasantly surprised to hear Barry White on the airwaves. He left the car on when he arrived; he'd just spoken to Aziraphale a few hours ago. The plan was to head to dinner and then to the party. Aziraphale could enjoy a proper meal, and Crowley could get a bit of liquid courage in him before DJing for one of his favorite musicians.

 _Baby, oh baby_  
_Yeah, what am I gonna do?_  
_Baby sweet baby, my baby_  
_What am I gonna do with you?_

He walked up the steps to find the doors locked and a note taped to the inside that read, “Back in a Moment.” Crowley looked up and down the street to see if he saw Aziraphale approaching. It wasn't unusual for the angel to lose track of time, so he got back in the Bentley and kept watch.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel was sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed and Aziraphale was doing his best not to pace and continue looking at the clock. He'd said this would be a short check in. All he had to do was answer a few more questions.

“Found anything to occupy your time after your little 'Summer of Love'?” Gabriel looked at him expectantly.

“Ah,” Aziraphale let out a high-pitched sigh. “I've um, been sticking with standard procedure these days. Healing the sick, catching up on prayer requests, you know. The typical, everyday miracles that make the world go round, so to speak.”

Gabriel nodded. “A _zi_ raphale.” How was it possible for him to be so consistently patronizing? “That's wonderful news. I am so pleased, and I'm sure She will be, also.”

Aziraphale twisted his mouth into a demure smile. “Well. Thank you.” “Don't get too comfortable,” Gabriel added. “We must all continue striving towards further perfection.”  
“Of course.”

“It's right there in the job description.” Gabriel stared at Aziraphale for a moment and then burst into his brand of corporate laughter.

Aziraphale forced a chuckle. “Yes. I appreciate the reminder.” He quickly snuck a glance at the clock. Crowley was likely waiting for him outside and had been for twenty minutes or so. Gabriel was droning on about progress reports and upcoming plans. Aziraphale's hands felt a little clammy. What if Crowley tried to come in at this moment? He hooked his hands behind his back and snapped, quietly blessing the steps. He had to keep Crowley out of here, or else...

* * *

 

Four more songs played before Crowley got out of the car. Now he was annoyed. He'd just talked to Aziraphale. What was happening? He did a quick walk around the block and still didn't see the angel. He circled back and leapt up the stairs to be stopped by a flash of heat searing his feet.

“Ouch, for fuck's sake!” Crowley jumped off the stairs and grabbed his foot. Why the _hell_ were the bloody stairs blessed? He looked at his watch. He had another hour before he _really_ had to leave. Of course, he could just go, but there had to be an explanation for this. There _had_ to be.

“You've got an hour to explain yourself, Angel,” he muttered as he hopped back into the car.

* * *

 

“Aziraphale?” Gabriel said his name differently for the first time, and Aziraphale snapped back to attention.

“Yes?”

Gabriel stood; his face was only about six inches away from Aziraphale's.

“I know that you have certain, how shall I say, earthly delights that you enjoy.”

Aziraphale swallowed and tried his best to keep eye contact with Gabriel. “Ah, well, yes, but I wouldn't quite call them-”

“Shh.” Gabriel hushed him as one might hush a child, or a dog. “I understand there are many enjoyable things on Earth, food, drink, material objects. We know there are infinite pleasures here; She designed a lot of them. But She didn't create them all, you know.”

“I'm aware that not all pleasures are-”

Gabriel cut him off and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn't take much to Fall, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips together. “I would hope that my continued works would be evidence that I am performing my assigned duties as directed.”

“Yes, your continued works are indeed important. But it only takes one major Sin to fall. One temptation could undo all your hard work. And if, say, a demon were to attempt to capture you for the other side, well.” Gabriel paused.

Aziraphale used a minor miracle to stop his body from visibly trembling. Surely he didn't know. If he knew that he wouldn't bother coming here, right? If Gabriel knew, he'd already be facing trial in Heaven...

“There wouldn't be much we could do.” Gabriel's violet eyes were always cold, but today they sent shivers down Aziraphale's spine and into the outline of his wings, currently tucked away in another dimension.

“Right, yes-”

“And I'd hate to see that happen to you.” Aziraphale knew it was a threat wrapped in concern.

“Well, I,” he stuttered. “I thank you for your concern.”

“Don't thank me,” Gabriel said. “Just remember what you are.” He began walking towards the front doors.

Aziraphale glanced out the window and saw Crowley's Bentley parked in the same spot it had been in for hours.  
“Um, Gabriel?”

“Yes, A _zi_ raphale?”

“Would you mind taking the, uh, the Celestial exit?” he asked, gesturing upward. “It could look a little strange if it appeared a customer was exiting so late after our closing hours.” He smiled and clasped his hands together.

“It's no problem at all. Best to remember all things Celestial, yes?”

Aziraphale nodded and waved timidly. Gabriel gave him an unsettling wink as he looked upwards and disappeared in a ray of violet light. As soon as he was gone, Aziraphale ripped off his jacket and vest. He had been sweating fiercely for the past hour.

“A plan, a plan, I've got to have a plan,” he muttered as he ran over to his desk.

He couldn't do that to Crowley. If Hell found out they had been fraternizing as they had been... on a regular basis... it would be the end. For both of them. Crowley would be destroyed, and Aziraphale couldn’t go on existing without him. He felt hot tears welling up behind his eyes; one sprung loose and dropped into a perfect circle on his desk.

Aziraphale wrote out a note and placed it carefully in the Drawer of Last Resort. He was certain Crowley knew to look here. The angel snapped his fingers and all the lights in the shop went dark.

* * *

 

Crowley was roused from a nap by the familiar strains of Bohemian Rhapsody. They'd played this song to death on commercial radio over the past month, and he didn't give a damn; he loved it.

 _Mama, life had just begun_  
_But now I've gone and thrown it all away_

Shit. He'd nodded off. What time was it? Oh, _fuck_. Crowley had exactly twenty minutes to find Aziraphale _and_ make it to the party. He leapt out of the Bentley and up the stairs again. The stairs didn't burn his feet, but the doors were still locked; Crowley tried both door handles a few times before resorting to magic to open them.

“Angel?” Now Crowley began to worry in earnest. He'd never seen the shop so dark. Usually if Aziraphale was trying to pretend the shop was closed, he would retreat back to his desk. The soft glow of his favorite reading lamp would be visible from here. There was nothing except the darkness. Crowley's stomach lurched. He started flipping switches until the shop was dimly lit and made a beeline for the back corner.

“Angel! Are you in here?” he called out. Crowley felt himself growing more desperate by the moment. He made his way through all the usual spots. Finally, his eyes landed on the top right drawer. He felt bad going through the angel's desk, but it was the last place he knew to look. Sure enough, a note sat on top in Aziraphale's cursive hand. Like the rest of him, it hadn't been updated for a hundred years or so, but Crowley had learned to decode his writing by now:

 _My dear, I am attending to an urgent work-related situation._  
_I'm sorry, and I will explain to you at a later time_

Crowley gritted his teeth. “Oh, so you couldn't just call and cancel?” Crowley yelled out into the shop. He kicked the leg of Aziraphale's desk with more force than he intended, and it snapped with a resounding _crack_. Great. Crowley immediately felt a flush of guilt and shame; he quickly snapped his fingers to repair it. He instinctively put his sunglasses on to cover up the anger, the hurt.

“It's not enough to stand me up and bless the bloody steps and... and make me late for this, you had to go and make me _worry_ on top of it all?” Crowley knew he was just shouting into the void at this point, but he didn't care. He did feel better after getting at least some of it out of his system.

“Fine,” he muttered as he stomped his way to the door.

* * *

 

Aziraphale had been hiding under his wings for the past hour. He didn't get them out often unless it was time for a cleaning, but nothing else could soothe him when he was feeling this way. He threaded his fingers aimlessly through his secondary feathers as he heard Crowley tearing through the bookshop looking for him. Aziraphale breathed in deeply and focused his energy on remaining hidden in another dimension. This was for the best. He knew Crowley would be hurt, but wouldn't it be better to explain to him later, to ask for forgiveness rather than mourn his destruction? Stupid, stupid, he'd been so stupid to be so careless. Someone had to look out for Crowley's long term safety.

He extended his left wing, covered in thousands of gleaming eyes, and saw a compound image of Crowley as he walked out of the bookshop. Crowley's sunglasses were shoved all the way up; he looked absolutely crestfallen. Aziraphale tried to steady his trembling lower lip. He succeeded in holding back the tears until he heard the sound of the doors locking and Crowley's footsteps racing swiftly towards the Bentley.

The realization hit him with brute force; he'd stood Crowley up, possibly made him late for a very important event, and caused his best friend to worry needlessly for hours. And yet, after all that, Crowley had still taken the time to lock the bookshop doors on his way out. A couple hundred years of memories flashed before him, all variations on the same: Crowley waiting for him, Crowley reaching out to him, Crowley offering himself, Crowley giving, and giving, and giving, and giving. And here he was, hiding in another dimension, too cowardly to even _attempt_ to explain his actions, too afraid to go after the one thing he truly wanted.

The tears came in a sudden torrent from every single one of Aziraphale's eyes, and he shivered as he stood under a shower of his own sorrow.

 

* * *

 

The driver's side door was open when Crowley finally made his way back to The Bentley. Hmm. He was sure he'd closed it. Crowley looked at his watch. He could still make it to the party on time, but he'd really have to hustle. He hoped that Freddie's manager had been serious about having everything set up for him. He made sure his sunglasses were pushed up as high as they could go and took off.

Crowley was racing down the streets of London going eighty, ninety miles an hour when soft piano music started to play. He looked at the radio; the dial was off. Again, Freddie Mercury's unmistakable voice spilled over the speakers.

 _Love of my life, you've hurt me_  
_You've broken my heart, and now you leave me_

This was from the new album, but it hadn't gotten airplay yet; Crowley knew because he kept track of the charts now. He tried turning off the dial and turning it back on again, but the music didn't stop. Okay. That was odd. He ran a hand through his hair and set his jaw. It would be fine, eventually. If Aziraphale needed more time, or whatever the fuck, that was just fine. Crowley floored the gas pedal.

“I can go as fast as I want on my own time,” he muttered as he cut a corner, knocking over a trash can.

 _Don't take it away from me,_  
_because you don't know what it means to me_

He cleared his throat. Donna and Peter were coming tonight; they were going to be in town for at least a week. He could talk to Donna. And he was about to DJ for one of the most famous musicians in the entire country. Whatever happened, at least he had this now, this ever-evolving _thing_ that was _his_. Suddenly, the street was entirely clear; there wasn't a single car in either direction. As Crowley lifted up his sunglasses to get a better look, the steering wheel jerked sharply to the right and the Bentley began to... drive itself? Crowley lifted his hands off the wheel and watched in shock as the car headed down a street he'd never seen before.

 _When I grow older, I will be there at your side_  
_to remind you how I still love you_

“I'm going to trust you have a _plan_ for this, because if I'm late for this gig, I'll-”

_I still love you_

He didn't even get the chance to finish his thought. The Bentley was already in front of 100 Holland Road, sliding itself smoothly into a parking spot directly in front of the flat. Crowley still had his hands up in the air. He waited until the car had come to a complete stop before bowing his head in gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly into the center console. “I can't thank you enough for getting me here on time. Please tell me how I can make it up to you.” Crowley ran his hands down the front of his jacket and down his thighs. There were a few wet spots on his trousers and it took a while for him to realize he had cried a bit on the way over. Must have been that new Queen song (combined with the panic, anger, fear, and pain).

“Pull yourself together, you idiot,” Crowley muttered to himself as he stepped out of the Bentley. His ankle caught on something pointy and he tripped as he got out of the car.

“Ouch!” He looked down and saw what looked like a narrow spike extending from the underside of the car.

“I'm pretty certain that wasn't there before,” Crowley said, pointing to the spike. “You want to tell me what this is all about?”

He didn't expect the Bentley to answer; he certainly didn't expect the Bentley to open the passenger door by itself. Crowley's mouth fell open. He gingerly walked around the car, put his cart on the sidewalk, and set the crates of records directly into it.

“For what it's worth, I wasn't calling _you_ an idiot,” Crowley said as he went to close the door.

The Bentley beat him to it and closed the door on its own. Crowley heard the locks click shut as he rolled his records up to Freddie _fucking_ Mercury's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob Tomalski went by "Roger Tate" on the airwaves at Radio Invicta. He was well known for his passion for radio and the actions he took to push for freedom of radio. He passed away in 2001. Tributes here have his friends calling him "Bob," but I kept him as Roger in the story because we already have two Bobs! Here are some lovely things his friends had to say about him at his memorial:  
> http://www.radiofax.org/Bob_Tomalski_speeches.html
> 
> Playlist has been updated with new songs!


	14. It Takes A Whole Lot Of Human Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets by with a little help from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. These two lovesick fools are absolutely set on this story being like... 200k words long. I keep writing and getting to a point where it's like... 6000 words and they are still going. anyhow. it's the holidays so there's a lot going. The playlist has been partially updated for the next chapter so you can enjoy a sneak preview of that if you want! ;) These next two chapters are music heavy because Crowley's doing a full DJ set at Radio Invicta. 
> 
> anyway this goes out to my friend G who said "she wants an Ineffable Husbands fic longer than the Bible." Enjoy :)

24 December 1975  
100 Holland Road  
Kensington, London

Crowley pulled his crates of records up the path to the house; before he even made it to the stoop, the door opened and out came Donna and Peter.

“AJ!” Donna went right to Crowley and gave him a giant hug. Ah, he had missed her. She was wearing a rainbow sequined jumpsuit with a white fur stole, and she was much taller than normal.

“You been growing or something since you got famous?” he asked. Donna hitched up her pant legs to show Crowley a pair of six-inch glitter platforms.

“Well, those are absolutely fucking _fantastic_ ,” Crowley said. “I expect nothing less from you, superstar.” Donna rolled her eyes.

Peter also pulled him in for a hug.

“AJ, really good to see you,” he said.

“And you too,” Crowley smiled.

Peter reached down for the cart. “Can we help you get these records upstairs?”

“Oh, uh yeah, please. I’m running a bit late.” Peter took one end of the cart and Crowley took the other. Together they managed to get it up the narrow staircase and into the living room.

Freddie's flat was tastefully decorated with floral motifs and lots of paisley; the air smelled like fresh cut flowers and spices, perhaps mulled wine? There were twinkling lights hung around the room, and a giant silk Persian rug covering the floor. He felt something brush against his leg and looked down to see an enormous orange tabby cat.

“Hello there.” Crowley extended a hand to the tabby, who sniffed it and then leaned in for a good scratch under the chin.

A familiar pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

“Ready to party already, m’lady?”

“You know it! We’re here until after the first of the year. I hope you’re ready to get into some trouble with me.” Crowley breathed in her perfume and leaned into Donna's... warmth? Her... familiarity? He was having a hard time naming the feeling, but it was lovely.

Suddenly, she pulled away. “Wait a minute, where's your partner? I thought he was coming.”

Crowley pursed his lips. “He wasn't able to make it. Last minute thing.”

Donna crossed her arms. “What 'last minute thing' could be more important than this?”

“I'll tell you about it, but not now,” Crowley said under his breath. She nodded.

“But anyways, I’m really glad you’re here,” he pulled Donna closer and whispered into her ear, “because I'm getting ready to DJ a _private party_ for one of my favorite musicians and I'm so nervous I'm about to _piss_ myself,” he didn't even get the last part of the sentence out before Donna clapped a hand over her mouth and slapped him on the arm.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Why are you so nervous? All you have to do is what you do every week!”

Crowley's first instinct was to drop his sunglasses down and look Donna in the eye, but he remembered (just in time) that he couldn't do that. He pushed his sunglasses up and bit his lip.

Donna leaned in and put her hand up to Crowley's ear. He'd never had anyone touch him there before, and he froze until he realized she was cupping her hand around his ear so she could whisper into it: “Everyone has been listening to your Thursday nights, AJ. _Everyone_. Someone said Freddie is even refusing to play shows on Thursdays as long as you're on the air.”

Crowley clutched a hand to his chest. The room was spinning. “Well. That's. I'm sorry, that's just. That's ridiculous. Absurd! I've only been doing this since the summer. And I frankly, have _no_ idea what the _hell_ I'm doing. Here, or with any of it.”

Donna stared at him with her beautiful sparkling brown eyes. Crowley had never had anyone look at him like this; it felt like he was tipping over.

“Shut _up_! You're brilliant!” Donna said. “If I thought you were awful... well. You know me. I'd just say it.”

Crowley opened his mouth, hoping for a witty comeback to materialize, then slowly closed it and shrugged.

“You know I'm right.”

“Oh yes, I know that,” he said. “I gotta get to work here. Go see what's going on. Come back with the gossip. The _good_ gossip.” Donna laughed as she walked away.

Crowley dug through the crates until he landed on a record he truly loved. He hadn't planned on starting with this, but he felt so raw around the edges that he needed a security blanket of a song to start the set. Crowley dropped the needle down and an easy bass groove kicked it off, followed by a perfectly timed kick drum. By the time the vocals came in, he already felt better. He let out a breath and started mapping out the next few songs.

_It takes a whole lot of human feeling_  
_It takes a whole lot of human feeling_

He enjoyed being a serpent and occasionally switched back into that form when things got too overwhelming; a nice nap under a heat lamp did wonders for his mood. Crowley couldn't always stop his body from giving in to its original impulses; he set his hips free and started swaying in time to the beat.

_(True-ooh-ooh feelin)_  
_It takes a whole lot of human feeling_  
_(You need a real thing)_  
_It takes a whole lot of human feeling_  
_(True feeling, that's what it is, you gotta have it)_

By the time the full refrain came in, he was bopping his head and snapping softly on on the two and the four like normal. He just needed to stay in the moment, in the music, for the rest of the night. He could deal with his stupid, overwhelming, ridiculous feelings later on.

_It takes a whole lot of human feeling_  
_I know from what I see_  
_It takes a whole lot of human feeling_  
_Just to be – (oh Lord, have mercy)_  
_A human being_

Freddie _fucking_ Mercury strutted over to where the turntables were set up and waited for the visual cues that Crowley had a minute in between songs to talk. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Crowley attempted to give himself an internal pep talk, but true to form, it came out sounding like a threat: ' _You are a fucking immortal demon. Try to be cool for once in your existence_.'

He set down his headphones and looked up into the face of the one and only Freddie Mercury, who was now a household name thanks to the instant success of Queen's latest record, A Night At The Opera.

“Hi, I'm Freddie,” he said, extending his hand to Crowley, who could only nod.

Freddie (thankfully) had the grace and consideration to carry the conversation forward. “Thanks for coming and doing this tonight. This is great, who is it?”

“This is Gladys Knight & The Pips, it's from Knight Time, came out last year,” at least Crowley was comfortable geeking out about the music, “The song is from a musical called 'Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope-”

Freddie laughed. “Oh, that's rich. I can relate to that.”

Crowley nodded and smiled. “Yeah, me too. It ran for a good while on Broadway a few years ago, but I never got over there to see it.”

“Really nice, I think I ought to try to track that down.”

“Oh, I've got a copy of the original cast recording somewhere. Had to call in quite a few favors to get my hands on it,” Crowley kneeled down to dig through a crate. “Ah, no luck. Thought I might have brought it with me tonight. You can borrow it if you want. Or I might be able to track down another copy-”

“Hey, that could be fun. Are you much of a night owl?” Freddie asked.

“Uh,” Crowley got the next record out and ready to go, “I suppose it depends?”

“Well I was just thinking, maybe come by after your Thursday night sometime. We're always up late over here,” Freddie said, scanning the crowd.

One of Crowley's favorite singers wanted him to _come over_? And... hang out and listen to records together? “Buhhh,” he sputtered. “Yeah, that, of course. That's great. That sounds excellent.”

A blond woman made her way over to Freddie and draped his arm around her shoulders. “This is my girlfriend, Mary.” She extended her hand and Crowley shook it delicately.

“Pleasure, my pleasure to meet the both of you. And anytime you want to talk, or, or listen to music. Anytime at all,” Crowley was tripping over his words; he didn't even care. He picked up his headphones to set up the next song.

“I love the music, and I'm so glad you came,” Freddie said as he and Mary turned to head back to the party. “Can we get you anything to drink?”

“I'm good for now, but thanks, yeah.” Crowley had to concentrate on getting the transition right. Eventually, he'd take a brief break and see what Donna was getting into. More people were starting to stream into the living room. He exhaled as he switched over to the next track; the songs blended perfectly into each other, a tight drum groove and soaring string melody set up the beginning of the track. Crowley looked down at the records he'd brought and made a fast decision to scrap the original set list. Tonight, he was going to do what Donna and Roger had told him to: he was just going to play what he loved.

_Cause everybody's got to give it up_  
_Oh, sometimes, (yeah)_  
_So you might as well be mine_

He started sorting and lining up records with a new direction in mind. The next two hours went by in a blur. Crowley had never felt so focused, and he forgot about everything except the music. Every few songs, someone would come over to chat with him a bit, and the responses so far were overwhelmingly positive. At one point, Freddie introduced Donna, holding her hand up like she'd won a gold medal and insisting Crowley play 'Love to Love You Baby.' Donna was furiously shaking her head at him and gesturing for him to 'cut it out', but he knew he had to play it. The song had dominated the airwaves for almost a month and was still going strong. He scanned around periodically to gauge reactions, and there were never fewer than eight or ten people dancing in the center of the living room. He thought he heard his name being called at one point, and then -

“AJ! AJ, hey, you remember me?” Errol Brown of Hot Chocolate was walking towards him with a huge smile on his face.

“Of course I do, Errol,” Crowley shook his hand firmly. “Congrats, mate, your song is still doing great.” 'You Sexy Thing' had gone to the top of the charts immediately after its release in October.

“Ah, thank you. You're a crazy one, you. But we did it!”

“ _You_ did it. I didn't do shit.” Errol burst out in laughter. “Hey, you got any requests? Can I play anything for you?”

“Oh, huh. You have any Stevie Wonder?”

“Loads of Stevie Wonder,” Crowley gestured to the crates.

“All right then AJ, just surprise me.”

“You got it.” Crowley had always loved surprising people. A few perfectly timed guitar and brass hits kicked off the next track, one of his absolute favorites:

_You can bet you're sweeter than ever,_  
_And your love is making it better_  
_I can feel it in my bones_  
_Oh, each time we're alone_  
_Cause I live in ecstasy_  
_And my soul refuses sleep,_  
_Cause joy, joy, takes over me_

A short white man with a giant mass of dark curly hair approached the turntables.

“Hey, this is Stevie Wonder, right? What is this?”

“It's called Joy Takes Over Me, it's on Signed, Sealed, Delivered,” Crowley stood up a bit straighter. Damnit, he was proud of how this set was going. He could be proud, or even prideful, right? Wasn't that part a demon's work?

“Wow, I love it.” He leaned in with his hand out. “I'm Leo, by the way, excellent work, great stuff tonight.”

“Pleasure to meet you Leo, so glad you're enjoying yourself.”

Leo gave him a thumbs-up as he headed back onto the dance floor.

_Through thick and thin I'll stand,_  
_Loving you always._  
_Yes, I need you, my, my_  
_To take the heartache away_  
_I know the sun's gonna shine,_  
_And as long as you're mine:_  
_It's joy, joy, joy, joy, I feel inside_

“A-hem,” he heard someone clearing their throat, and looked up to see Donna offering him a drink.

“You're a _great_ friend, you know that?” Crowley said, taking a sip of what tasted like possibly... a gin and tonic... with mint?

“Oh, I know,” she said. Crowley smiled and rolled his eyes as he put his headphones back on.

“Come dance with me in a bit, okay?” she yelled over the music. He shot her a thumbs-up. What time was it? Crowley didn't know, and he didn't care. Every hour he stayed at the party was an hour he wouldn't be sitting alone in his flat, wondering why Aziraphale had abandoned him. Eventually, Freddie made his way over and asked if Crowley could stop the music for a while. He'd given a brief speech thanking everyone for coming to his annual party and several people had given toasts to the success of the new album. It started to go a bit sideways when trays of shots got passed around; Freddie stood on a chair with a conductor's baton and led everyone in singing a raucous version of God Save The Queen. Whatever. It was a great party. Crowley bummed a cigarette from Errol and slipped away to the balcony. He didn't particularly enjoy smoking, but he loved any excuse to have a moment alone. Just when Crowley's thoughts drifted to the moment he'd found Aziraphale's note, a stupid _note_ of all things, Peter came out onto the balcony and told him it was time to get back to work. Excellent.

Hmm. Crowley wanted a nice and easy groove to start it up again. He flipped through a small stack of records perched on the edge of a crate until he found an Eddie Kendricks album. As soon as he heard the shaker and the brass riff holding down the intro, he was fully back in the moment.

_I'm on the sideline_  
_Hoping that you'll give me a chance_  
_I'm on the sideline_  
_Won't you let me prove myself_

He set his headphones down and noticed Donna shimmying over to the turntables.

“ _You_ haven't danced with me all _night_.” She was right.

“And that's a damn shame,” Crowley said. “I'll fix that in a few minutes, yeah?”

She shrugged her shoulders. Well. Crowley could hardly let his friend down.

And for the next song... he needed something a bit longer so he could go dance with Donna. Ah! Crowley had gotten into the Pointer Sisters after he'd gone out with Bob that night in New York. In June, a copy of their latest album, _Steppin'_ , had appeared in the mail for him with no return address. He'd loved the first song so much, he hadn't even made his way through the rest of the record yet. Crowley tried to pull the record out of the sleeve, but the paper had gotten a bit jammed. He tried wiggling the record back and forth a bit and finally it came out of the sleeve, along with a scrunched up piece of lined paper. Crowley picked it up and slowly unfurled it:

_Thought you might enjoy this_  
_-Bob_

He stared at it for a moment before realizing he had to get the next song going. When was the last time he'd gotten got a gift from anyone? The Ohio Players had sent him a copy of the record; that was true, but he'd been involved in the production of that one. This felt different. As soon as the bass groove got going, Donna headed into the living room with two shot glasses in hand. She obviously knew the song and danced her way across the floor to offer one to Crowley.

“I absolutely _love_ this song,” she said. “Drink this and come dance with me!”

_Betcha' got a chick on the side_  
_Sure, you got a chick_  
_I know you got a chick on the side_

Donna gave Crowley his shot and held hers up, waiting for him to clink the glasses together. They drank together.

“Argh,” he groaned. “What _was_ that? It burned.”

“I don't know,” Donna said, wiping her face off with her hand. “Who cares. Let's dance.” They set their shot glasses down on a side table. Donna took Crowley's hand and pulled him to a quiet corner of the dance floor. She was giving him that _look_ again; Crowley picked up concern, worry, a touch of anger, but underneath it all, affection.

“Really, I'm fine.”

Donna opened her mouth like she was set to say something, then closed it. She took Crowley's other hand and began to dance. It felt easy, free, fun. Donna was an amazing dancer and kept showing Crowley new moves. He loved watching her move; if there was music playing, she was smiling. Crowley felt another overwhelming wave of fondness and allowed it to flow through him. Then he remembered the fact that he'd been totally stood up by his only love. He tried to let it go, but Donna caught the look that crossed his face. She began singing along (of course, she knew every word), gesturing furiously, eyes locked on Crowley's. He got the message loud and clear.

_It might hurt me for a while_  
_but of one thing I am sure_  
_I'll get over you_  
_Yes, I'll find someone new_

Crowley joined in and began mouthing the words back to Donna. He wasn't singing, but he felt them just the same.

_Each time I open up my heart_  
_It seems to just get torn apart_

Somehow, they both decided that Crowley should be the one to lip-sync the lead line here, and he did so with gusto, pointing dramatically and crooning into an imaginary microphone.

_How long (How long?) will this game go on?_  
_How long (How long, how long?)_  
_Oh, how long_

They continued to dance as the song wound down. Donna gestured for him to bend down.

“What are you doing tomorrow? Do you wanna join us at the hotel?”

“Ahh,” Crowley said, “I'd love to, but I agreed to DJ tomorrow. Everybody else is... busy.”

Donna shot him a baffled look. “You gonna be all by yourself?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around Crowley's slender shoulders.

Crowley shrugged. “I mean... I figured I might be.”

“Well, you're not. Nope. You're not going to be. I'll come over there around 8 or so. Or earlier. Who knows.”

“That's... I mean, that's nice, but you don't have to.”

“I know,” Donna said as she held his gaze. Crowley felt like she was somehow able to see through his sunglasses, and realized that he was about to cry. Before his lip even began to tremble, Donna grabbed him and held his body close in a firm embrace.

“It's gonna be okay, baby,” she said. “We can talk it out. You know you can always talk to me.”

Crowley sucked in a ragged breath. “I've got to pull myself together. Pretend you're telling me something, I don't know, really important.”

Donna laughed. “I _am_ telling you something really important. You're my friend, and you deserve better than to be stood up like this.”

Crowley held her tighter and Donna kept hugging back. “Song's about to be over. You okay?”

“Yeah, right, yeah, I'm good,” Crowley gave her a peck on the cheek. “Gotta get back to it.”

“I got you,” Donna said as he made his way back behind the turntables.

* * *

 

Around 4am - Christmas Day  
Thursday 25 December 1975  
Mayfair, London

The party had gone better than Crowley had dreamed possible; he'd eventually made it home around 3am. Freddie had asked him to come back at least a dozen times and everyone was incredibly happy with the music. Someone even offered to buy his record collection on his way out the door. (He was overjoyed to turn it down.) It was rare for him to stay out so late, as he did truly love to sleep; but today had been better spent out of the house, with people. With _friends_ , he corrected himself.

The answering machine light was blinking. His shoulders slumped. Aziraphale had probably called (eventually) and now he'd have to listen to it. He wasn't sure he was up for thinking about it anymore, but he also couldn't take the weight of the unknown hanging over his head.

“Let's see what we got here.” Crowley pressed play.

“You have,” (there was always the _longest_ pause here) Two. New messages.”

“Uh, hi, AJ,” a familiar voice greeted him, but not the one he was expecting, “It's Bob. Bob Crewe, from New York. Um. Yeah, I guess I just thought I'd call to wish you a Merry Christmas. Hope everything is good your way.”

Crowley had stuffed the scrunched up note into his pocket. He remembered leaning into Bob's embrace on the dance floor, the heat of his kiss, but mostly, he remembered the kindness Bob had shown him. Crowley felt a swell of emotion rising in his throat as he saved the message. He should probably call back. He should definitely call back. Just not now.

“Hello, Crowley, I just wanted-” Crowley stopped the message. His long fingers hovered above the “delete” button for a few moments before he pulled back and began drumming them on the edge of the desk. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. No need to act in anger. He and Aziraphale had known each other for a long time; a long fucking time. Crowley was sure they'd be able to work it out. Just not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a YouTube link for "Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpLxR0IIHj0
> 
> Yes, Errol comes back! Leo in the story is Leo Sayer, known for "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing."


	15. It's A Shame, The Way You Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley spends Christmas Day on Radio Invicta, sorting through his feelings with an 8 hour show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks so much for all the love and support. I promise - promise - that these two will eventually get their shit together. This week is pretty busy for me, so I'm going to finish the last chapter of another fic I have going, and hopefully will get next chapter out no later than the 28th, hopefully sooner. Thanks so much to everyone for following along and leaving kudos and comments. :) Just wanted to give an update.

Christmas Day  
25 December 1975  
3:45pm  
Radio Invicta  
(Undisclosed location)  
London

Crowley had sobered up before heading over to the flat, which was the first good decision he'd made all day. He dragged his crates of records and his tired ass back into the studio and made his second good decision: coffee. (This was made possible by another good decision a few weeks ago: paying attention as Roger explained in great detail how to use the coffeemaker.) He had enough time to suck down half a cup of black coffee before powering up the broadcasting equipment and going on the air. Crowley made sure the “LIVE” indicator light was on, then leaned into the microphone.

“Good afternoon,” he had to clear his throat, “you're listening to Radio Invicta. I want to wish a _very_ happy Christmas to all of you listeners out there. I'm AJ Crowley, you may know me as your guardian of the groove on Thursday nights from nine to midnight.” He took a sip of coffee and looked at the stack of records he'd stacked up next to the desk.

“Today, I'll be here with you from now until midnight because Roger is a great guy, and I said I'd do it.” He set a record on the turntable and drummed his fingers. Were there any rules today? Fuck it.

“And... you know what? I'm just gonna lay it on you, we're gonna listen to the _entire_ 1969 self-titled album by The Meters, because, it's _just_ that good. I'll be back in about twenty minutes or so to flip this baby over and check in with you. Once again, you're listening to Radio Invicta, the home of Soul Over London.”

Crowley dropped the needle and... _Ahhhh.... yah!_

He got up to make more coffee and stretch a bit. Winters were always hard for him; he'd spent several recent ones in his serpent form, curled up under the radiator. There was a knit afghan slung over the edge of Roger's favorite chair. Crowley gently wrapped it around himself. He felt a chill hanging about him, but he wasn't sure it was entirely due to the weather.

 

* * *

 

Around 6:30pm, the buzzer sounded and Crowley called down.

“Hello?”

“AJ,” Donna whined, “let me in, it's cold as fuck, and I am _hung_ over.”

Crowley laughed and buzzed her in. A few minutes later, he heard a soft knock on the door.

“'s open,” he called from the living room.

Donna groaned as she stumbled into the flat.

“And a very happy Christmas to you, m'lady.” She gave him a mocking smirk, much like the ones he liked to dish out. “There's coffee in the kitchen. Or are you in need of a little hair of the dog today?”

“Both, I think.” She cocked an ear towards the living room. “Oh, I love this song. You gotta play some more Marvin Gaye for me.” She sang along as she made herself coffee:

 _Ah! But now's the time to be strong_  
_You gotta forget him, now that he's gone_  
_and remember, that's the way love is, honey_

They settled themselves in around the turntables and Donna fished around in her oversized bag for a minute.Then she held out a long, glossy, black box and shook it in Crowley's general direction until he took it.

“What is this?” Crowley asked.

“It's... a present.” Donna said it like he'd asked her to explain how to breathe.

“But-”

“It's a present, for _you_ , from _me_ , Merry Christmas.”

Crowley looked at the box and then back to Donna.

“If you don't stop looking at it and start opening it-”

“Okay! Okay. Fine,” Crowley opened the box and gently unfolded the green tissue paper. Underneath was something soft, it was black, and oh! It was a lovely cashmere scarf, black on one side and red on the other. Crowley gently stoked the fabric and a few teardrops landed on his hands before he could stop himself. “Oh, this is just so nice-” he could barely get the word out before he broke down.

“AJ! No! Aww, sweetie, I wasn't trying to make you cry, I just saw it and I thought you'd like it,” Donna wrapped her arms around him and was stroking his back like he was a baby. “You do like it, right? Or are you crying because it's awful? Is it really that ugly?”

He laughed. “It's absolutely wonderful. Thank you. I just, I don't have anything for you-”

“That's not why you give gifts to people,” Donna said. “Not why I do, anyways.”

Crowley pulled the scarf from the box and placed it around his neck. Donna pulled half of it around and adjusted it a bit. It was so soft, and he immediately felt warmer. He reached under his sunglasses to wipe away the rest of the tears.

“Ahhh. It's so warm. I hate winter, you know. Always have hated the cold. It just gets to me.” He nuzzled his nose against the cashmere and sighed.

“So you like it?” She patted him softly on the head; he felt like he should be a touch offended at being petted like a dog, but it was actually rather lovely.

“I love it,” Crowley said. “It's the nicest gift I've ever gotten.” It was true.

Donna smiled. They looked at each other and realized there was now silence on the air. In his haste to get close to the microphone, Crowley knocked over his coffee.

“And hello! We're back! You're listening to 92.4, Radio Invicta. I'm your host, AJ Crowley. Very Merry Christmas to you all, I've got a very special guest in the studio with me tonight-”

Donna's eyes went wide.

“Please,” Crowley whispered. “Just talk a little bit while we pick the next song. _Please_!”

“And my name is... Donna Summer,” she said in an overly sultry voice. “I'm here today with my _dear_ friend, AJ Crowley. We had a wonderful time last night; AJ was playing music at Freddie Mercury's house until 2am. It just so happened that-”

Now it was Crowley's turn to glare. _No!_ he mouthed. Donna flashed him a toothy grin. Fuck. He had to find something really fast. He grabbed a record and tossed it on the turntable.

“-Yes, my dear friend Donna and I will be on the radio taking your requests and... chatting with one another until midnight! And this is Workin' On A Groovy Thing, by the 5th Dimension!”

They waited until the intro had started before collapsing into giggles.

 _When I saw you, I knew that I was gonna love you_  
_And every day, I thought of how I'm gonna love you_

“Ha! Now everyone knows I give good gifts.”

“You do. You give the best gifts. But I really have to pay attention,” Crowley said.

“Oh, don't feel too bad. I doubt anyone is listening. Everyone's probably eating dinner or sleeping off a meal.” Donna got up and started looking through the wall of vinyl. “But I'll help. Let me pick out some music.”

By the time the song had ended, they had a big stack of records ready to go. Several people had called in asking to speak to Donna. She said “yes, it's really me,” to at least a half-dozen callers before they made a joint decision to take the phone off the hook and break open a bottle of wine.

* * *

 

Three hours later, they had blown through a few giant stacks of records and at least two bottles of wine. (They weren't really keeping track.) Donna found a bottle of wine in the kitchen, and Crowley surreptitiously made sure there were several extras hidden behind it. At the moment, he had put on another full album, The Supremes at the Copa. If anyone was still listening to this train wreck of a set, they could just fucking deal with it. Donna had gotten him to start (slowly) opening up about the situation with Aziraphale. They were sitting on the floor in the living room.

“Donna, it's complicated.”

“Well, it doesn't have to be complicated,” she said, refilling their glasses.

“No, no, um, that's not entirely what I mean,” he shifted positions to lean against the wall, “what I mean is that I could sit here and talk to you all day, and into the night, and all the way into the next day, and I _still_ wouldn't really be able to explain it to you. We have a _lot_ of history together. And I mean, a lot.”

Donna gave him a confused look. “So is he... your first?”

Crowley thought back, a long way back, to the first time he took shelter under Aziraphale's wing in the Garden of Eden. “Yeah, you could say that, I guess. We've known each other basically our whole lives.”

“Hmm. So maybe... he takes you for granted because he assumes you're always going to be there?”

“Uhh,” Crowley started to speak and decided to drink more wine instead.

 

* * *

 

The Bookshop  
Soho, London 

Aziraphale had tuned into 92.4 promptly at 9pm and heard what sounded like a live concert. It was nice, so he kept listening as he attempted to finish up some progress reports. It had been a good twenty minutes and he hadn't heard Crowley yet, so he assumed that perhaps the station was doing something different for the holiday. The angel had been working minor miracles for just under 24 hours straight, and he was _not_ feeling great. He stood up to stretch, and decided it wouldn't be so frivolous to use one tiny miracle for himself, what with everything he'd been doing for everyone else. Aziraphale refilled his cocoa, and a few moments later, a small plate with a few pains au chocolate appeared on his desk.

The phone rang, and Aziraphale nearly knocked over his cocoa in his haste to answer it. Maybe Crowley had the day off after all.

“Ah, hello?”

“Hello,” an older woman's voice greeted him, “My name is Sister Mary Theresa, and I'm from the Convent of the Sacred Holy Heart.”

“Well, hello there, how may I be of assistance?”

“No assistance needed my child, I'm simply calling to wish you a Blessed Holy Christmas.”

“And a... very Blessed Holy Christmas to you, also?” Why in the hell was a nun calling him?

“Have you heard the Good News about our Lord and Savior-”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, I assure you, Sister, I've heard all manner of the “Good News” you can possibly imagine. A Blessed Christmas to you. Goodbye.” He slammed the phone down a bit harder than he had intended.

Aziraphale tried starting back in on the pile of paperwork he had to complete, but he couldn't stay focused. He thought back on a couple thousand years worth of disagreements and missed communication and realized it was almost always Crowley who eventually came around to break the silence. He felt deeply ashamed of how he'd handled the situation yesterday, and he tried not to think too hard about the fact that Crowley had slept for over a hundred years after their worst disagreement.

Aziraphale picked absentmindedly at the edge of a pain au chocolate. He hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday.

* * *

 

“And that is our year ahead for Pisces... so AJ, what are we gonna put on next?” Donna asked. She had put on one of Peter's favorite songs, the single version of Jimmy Mack. They had spent the past fifteen minutes giggling on air and making up fake horoscopes for 1976. Crowley hoped he still had a weekly set, but honestly? If this was what got him kicked off Radio Invicta, he was fine with it. The last time he'd had this much fun was... with Donna, in Munich. The phone remained off the hook, which was probably a good thing.

“Ooh, I know what I need to hear today.”

Crowley had started looking for this album after hearing the first thirty seconds. It had come out just a few years after the incident in SoHo. At this point, Crowley had entire shelves of records devoted to helping him process that moment; today seemed as good a day as any to break one out.

“What you gonna put on?”

“You'll see. You know it,” Crowley said, as he dropped the needle down. Donna's face lit up once she recognized the opening guitar riff.

“Ohhhh! You know what this is,” Donna started snapping in time with the music before the second beat even hit.

“I know what this is,” Crowley was on the other side of the broadcast microphone, staring directly at Donna as they played around over the instrumental intro.

“It's a _shame_... the way you mess around... with your man,” Donna was half speaking, half singing as she fell into the rhythm off the guitar riff.

“It's a shame... the way you _hurt_ me,” it came out with a lot more bite than Crowley intended.

Donna raised her eyebrows, but picked up seamlessly, “I'm Donna Summer.”

“And I'm AJ Crowley, and you know what this is,” the kick drums had already started, shit -

“This is the Spinners,” - oh, he had to spit this all out right before the song kicked in for real - “And you're listening to Radioooooooo Invicta.”

Donna grabbed his hand and led him to the living room to dance; she kicked off her shoes, and he did the same.

* * *

 

Aziraphale had been listening to Crowley and a woman named Donna laughing and discussing horoscopes for the past few minutes. It sounded like they were having fun, and had been doing so for a while. Aziraphale had carefully rinsed the salt water from the outfit he was going to wear out yesterday, and articles of clothing were hung up in random places around the bookshop; a waistcoat slung over a bookstand, a pair of cream trousers strung up on a makeshift clothesline suspended between two bookshelves. His paisley bowtie was laying atop a cup full of pencils on his desk and he ran a finger across the silk. 'I could have been there too,' he thought bitterly, as he replayed the events of the past day. He would much rather have spent the day with Crowley, doing whatever it was they were going to do, than here at the shop, alone.

Crowley and Donna were playfully bantering over the intro to the next song; Aziraphale tried gently moving his body in time once the drums began, but once the lyrics came in, it all hit a little too close to home.

 _It's a shame, the way you mess around with your man_  
_It's a shame, the way you **hurt** me_

He stared at the speakers and had to sit down; the emotion jumping forth from the first few lines had him feeling quite tender around the edges.

 _I'm sitting all alone by the telephone_  
_Waiting for your call, when you don't call at all_

Aziraphale felt somehow that Crowley was sending him a message through the song, and he bristled at the bluntness of it. But wait; that didn't make sense. How would Crowley even know he had been listening in weekly? He probably could have told him yesterday, if he had -

_It's a shame, the way you play with my emotions_

And now he had gone and stood Crowley up, without a sufficient explanation, just as Crowley had opened up enough to share a part of his life with him. Aziraphale traced patterns on his knees and listened, really listened to the words.

 _You're like a child at play, on a sunny day_  
_Cause you play with love, and then you throw it away_

Aziraphale thought of a hundred different ways he could have handled the situation yesterday, every one a better option than the one he chose. He put his head in his hands and blinked rapidly as he tried not to cry. Damnit, he had always hated crying. Aziraphale bent over and let the tears fall straight onto the rug instead of onto the high-waisted beige trousers he'd had since 1909.

* * *

 

Donna was singing at the top of her lungs, hitting harmonies Crowley didn't know existed. Whenever she sang like this, Crowley felt closer to heaven than he had in millennia. They both really cut loose at the same time, and Crowley felt like he might possibly be singing, was he singing? He hadn't been able to sing since –

Donna grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “You never told me you could sing!”

Crowley shook his head and stared at her in confusion, “I can't.”

“Then what did I just hear?”

“It's, trust me. I really can't, I haven't-”

Donna dragged Crowley down the hallway. “We're gonna do something, right now, because you need it.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, does it have to be in the loo?”

She pointed to his reflection in the mirror. “Look at yourself, AJ. Look at yourself and repeat after me.”

Crowley let out a sigh, but gestured with his hand for her to continue.

“I'm a good person, I'm a good friend.” Donna nudged him.

“I'm a good person, and I'm a good friend.” Crowley formed the words as though his mouth was full of shredded cardboard.

Donna grabbed onto his arm for support. “I'm beautiful, and I'm... fun.”

“I'm beautiful,” - _heavens_ , he was drunk - “and I'm fun.” Was he fun? He wasn't sure.

“And I deserve to be, to be treated nice, I deserve the world.”

Crowley found himself unable to continue. He didn't deserve... anything.

“AJ! Just say it.” She had such an intense gaze when she got like this.

“Say what?”

Donna turned away from the mirror to look at him. “I forgot.” He chuckled.

“We are both still a bit hungover and a _lot_ drunk,” Crowley said as he gently touched his index finger to the tip of her nose.

“It's just. I _love_ you, I want you to be _happy_.” Donna got like this when they were in Munich: a bit maudlin, a touch whiny, but always sincere.

“Well, I,” Crowley started off mocking her words back to her, but halfway through, realized he meant them, “I _also_ love... you, and _you_ should be happy, too. So how about that?”

“How about it?” Donna turned back to the mirror and began singing to him. She began moving to the right and to the left, and Crowley did his best to follow along with her movements. Donna had grabbed a tube of toothpaste and started using it as a microphone. She handed a hairbrush to Crowley, and they sang to one another through the mirror;

 _I try to stay with you, show you love so true_  
_But you won't appreciate the love we try to make_  
_oh it's – got to be a shame_

“AJ!” Donna smiled at him in wonder. “You better not let any of those other music producers know you can sing or they'll have you in front of the microphone!”

Crowley shrugged and did a backwards shoulder shimmy back towards the living room. “It's a shame this song is only three minutes long, gotta figure out how the hell we follow this!”

* * *

 

Aziraphale continued to sit and serve his penance; absorbing every word he could understand from the song. A line that had grazed his awareness returned for a second time and seared itself into his memory.

_How can you stand to be so cruel?_

Aziraphale was suddenly, overwhelmingly disgusted with himself.

“I've got to get out of London for a while,” he said to a desktop full of half-finished paperwork. He grabbed his coat and headed towards the door. He wasn't ready to leave town at the moment, but he had to get some fresh air, right this instant. He stormed out the doors and didn't even bother turning off the radio.

 _Oh, oh, oh,_  
_It's a shame, it's a shame, the way you hurt me, yeah, yooooooooooow!_

* * *

 

31 December 1975  
Harrod's  
Knightbridge, London

Crowley was lounging on an ostentatious red velvet sofa in the women's formal section while Donna tried on dress after dress. She'd complained about 'not having a thing to wear' and Crowley had immediately dragged her out to Harrod's. He was incredibly proud to be the first person to take her here.

“Your wife is very beautiful,” the sales clerk said to Crowley. She was very young, eighteen, maybe nineteen at most, and she had dark circles under her eyes that she'd worked very hard to conceal.

“Ah, she _is_ the most beautiful woman I know, but she's not my wife. I have the highest honor of being her friend,” Crowley said. “I'm AJ. What's your name?”

“Oh. How nice that you are here like this, helping her pick out a dress. My name's Annie.”

“Nice to meet you. Have you been working hard for the holidays?” Crowley watched as Donna tossed another sparkling, glittery dress onto her pile of 'yeses.'

“I guess. My dad's sick, so. Have to take care of the family.” She looked down and Crowley noticed that her shoes had worn down to the tread.

“AJ!” Donna called from the fitting room.

“Ah, I've got to go check on her, but I'll be right back. Thank you for taking care of us today.” Crowley ran back to the threshold of the fitting room. “Can you come out here? I'm not sure I should go back-”

“AJ, _get back here_!” she hissed.“It's just me. I need help.”

Crowley walked under the sign that read “Ladies” and saw Donna frantically waving her hand from one of the fitting room stalls.

“Just, come on!” Donna slammed the door shut as soon as he made it in.

She was wearing a black ballgown with a tulle overlay and swirls of sequins in blue, purple, and gold tucked in between the layers of tulle and on the bodice of the dress; the overall effect reminded Crowley of a galaxy.

“You look stunning! What's the problem?”

“It's my hair. It's caught in the zipper.” She turned around and Crowley looked down to assess the situation.

“Oh, fuck. Can you even see it against the dress? I forgot about your eyes.” Donna sounded embarrassed.

“Nah, it's fine, love. I can see it, give me just a second here.” Crowley gently tugged at the zipper and Donna let out a yelp.

“Ow! If I told you how long it took me grow this out-”

“I'm sorry! Just hold still.” Crowley looked at the zipper. When he invented it, Aziraphale had been so angry. “You're going to regret this someday,” the angel had said to him over tea, in that know-it-all tone that always made Crowley a bit soft. He sighed; when it came to clothing, Aziraphale was always right. He had no choice but to use a minor demonic intervention to free Donna's hair. “Okay. I think I got it.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you. I can't be out in the world right now missing a huge chunk of hair.”

“Course not. You better get this dress though. It's incredible.”

Donna put her hands on her waist. “Eh, we'll see.”

“I'll leave you to it.” Crowley left and snuck over to where Annie was leaning against the till. He placed a giant wad of cash into her hand. “Listen; whatever she wants, just take it out of that. And the rest is for you, all right?”

Annie didn't even close her hand around the money. “Sir, I couldn't, I can't-”

“Shh,” Crowley held up his finger. “I don't want your manager to find out and take it away from you, yeah? Right. Happy New Year.” Annie quickly gathered the dresses Donna had set aside to purchase, rang them up, and had them wrapped in bags before she emerged from the dressing room.

Donna was putting on her coat as she walked up to the till. “All right, let me settle this up.”

“It's taken care of.” Crowley held up the bags in his right hand and extended his left arm to Donna. “Shall we?”

“You didn't. You don't have to,” Crowley held up a hand and attempted to shush her, which was a _bad_ move on his part. “I have my own money, you know.”

“I, yes, I-” Crowley stuttered. Shit. He hoped he hadn't crossed a line. “I just. I feel like it's not enough. I wanted to do something nice for you. You know. After what you did for me. Get you something nice,” he muttered the last sentence under his breath. He went to take his arm back, but Donna held it as she let out a small huff.

“You're such a big _softie_ ,” she said, so fondly Crowley thought his heart might combust. “Go on and try to hide it from the world if you want, but I see you.” He smiled like the cat who got the cream, and he had a feeling Donna saw that, too.

* * *

 

1 January 1976  
Mayfair, London

Crowley hadn't magically transported himself home in a while; however, desperate times called for desperate measures. He wasn't really cut out for large crowds, and it had been a minor miracle he'd been able to stay out until midnight. Crowley welcomed 1976 in underneath a disco ball, with Donna kissing him on one cheek and Peter kissing the other. Donna had invited him to spend yet another night crashing out in their hotel suite, but Crowley saw the look in Peter's eyes and knew better; plus, he needed to check on the plants and take care of a few other things.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” Crowley said as he hugged Donna and Peter goodbye. “But... not before the afternoon. Maybe around dinnertime.” Crowley was happy that line got a laugh from both of them.

Once home, he scrawled out a rough draft of the message he was going to leave for Bob. It was mostly a framework, but he couldn't bring himself to make the call before he had a loose idea of what he wanted to say. Now seemed like a good time; it was 2am in London and he was pleasantly, extremely drunk on high-end liquor.

Crowley let out a hiccup and picked up the phone. He dialed the number and flopped down in his oversized throne-like chair.

“Hello?”

Oh, shit. Bob wasn't actually supposed to _answer_ the phone. He hadn't planned for this...

“Hello? Anyone there?”

“Uh, yeah, hello,” Crowley croaked. “Is this Bob?”

“Indeed it is. And who's this?”

Before Crowley could speak, Bob continued: “Is it my good luck to be speaking with a certain well-dressed Brit who... likes to dance and mmm, maybe gets a little soft around the edges after a night out?”

Crowley burst out laughing. “Uh, well, my name is AJ; that's me to a tee.” Bob chuckled and Crowley felt a light fluttering in his chest. “I got your message, so I guess it's my turn. Happy New Year.”

“Mmm, not quite yet for me. It's just after nine here,” Bob said. “But thank you. How was your evening?”

“Oh, it was a _lot_ of fun. Great fun,” Crowley drawled. “Donna and Peter took me out, and honestly, I haven't been home in days.”

“Donna... Summer, I assume? That's a good song AJ, I saw you were involved with that one.”

“She's my _friend_ ,” Crowley said proudly, “she's amazing, isn't she?”

“Absolutely.” They both went quiet for a moment; Crowley didn't feel an immediate need to break the silence.

Bob cleared his throat. “Do you think you'll be making your way to the States anytime soon?”

“Eh, I'm not really sure,” Crowley said before realizing there was an implied question underneath, “but if I do, I will be sure to let you know.”

“I'd like that, AJ,” Bob said. “I'd like that a lot.”

Crowley's mouth suddenly went dry. “I would... like that as well.”

“Happy New Year. I hope it gets off to a good start for you.”

“Oh, it is,” Crowley said quickly. Too quickly?

Bob laughed. “Well, I'm flattered.” Crowley felt his stomach swoop a bit, and Bob continued, “I'm heading out soon, but I'm so glad you called. Don't be a stranger, okay?”

“I... won't be a stranger,” Crowley said softly.

“Good. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” Crowley held the phone next to his ear until he heard the click on the other end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes coming soon!


	16. C'est là que j'ai compris, tout à coup / That's where I understood, suddenly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes to Paris to see and be seen, sort through some feelings, and he ends up having some important realizations. 
> 
> merci enormemont!!!!!!!! to my French betas for getting these translations with me!!!! Jack @/milohader on twitter & Cassy @/cacilie_blass  
> and also thank you @trickshire for being such a great beta along for all the twists in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if this is a warning... but... I cried a lot while writing this chapter. Like, a lot. I'm not sure why it all hit me so emotionally, but be forewarned. This is about 6000 words of emotion. I'm very welcome to any constructive crit here -- I did my best to depict some pretty heavy concepts in a respectful way that stays true to what I've set up and how I see the characters so let me know if I did ok or if I'm totally out of bounds here. 
> 
> There are some unhealthy coping mechanisms in this chapter, along with explicit scenes and depictions of cruising. Without spoiling an important plot point, there are also descriptions of World War II in France, the Vichy government; there is a very brief discussion of the Holocaust in France in the end notes but it is NOT a part of the plot and is not written into the story. Just a clarifying detail. 
> 
> Note the amended/changed tags. I find Aziraphale much harder to write, this chapter was hard for me (and for him) but I think I am understanding his point of view better. Thank you to all for following along with this story.

C'est là que j'ai compris, tout à coup / That's where I understood, suddenly

Thursday, 8 January 1976  
The Bookshop  
Soho, London

The past two weeks of Aziraphale's existence had been such a miserable slog. Every time he and Crowley had a tiff, Aziraphale alternated between the desire to reach out and the desire to give Crowley space. After a couple thousand years, it made sense for them to fall into certain routines. Aziraphale knew Crowley had a tendency to brood; he also knew how much Crowley hated winter. He hoped that the reason he hadn't heard from Crowley was because he was spending time in his serpent form, curled up under a radiator, and not because he'd decided to sleep for another hundred years. Or something worse. Aziraphale's mind had a tendency to head straight for worst-case scenarios, in descending order: Heaven found out, Hell found out, Crowley's immediate supervisors found out, someone, anyone found out about them. These thoughts then led to the ultimate worst-case scenario: that Crowley had used the holy water and baptized himself into nothingness. Aziraphale turned the radio on and heard the start of an upbeat song that sounded in line with what he'd heard Crowley play for the past six months. Okay, so at least Crowley was still alive, because he was at the radio station.

 _A fool am I, to make you cry_  
_When you're the only one I love_

Wow, so it's like _this_ again? Aziraphale had never paid such close attention to song lyrics in his entire existence. He had been singing long before the invention of language in the way that humans understood it; why were these silly love songs getting under his skin just so?

_I really don't deserve the love you give to me_

Something else that bothered Aziraphale was the way certain lines, snippets, sentences, fragments of songs seemed to hit so much harder than others. Why didn't every word land with the same intensity?

 _What's wrong? What's wrong?_  
_What's wrong with me, baby?_

The music was making him a bit tetchy; he made himself some tea the earthly way and walked back once he heard the song start to fade out.

An unfamiliar voice greeted him: “Good evening, and thanks for tuning in to Radio Invicta, the home of Soul Over London.”

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop. Crowley wasn't on the air tonight. He steepled his hands over his face and prepared for the worst.

“My name's Jack, you may remember me as the bloke who used to do this every Thursday back in the day.”

“All right Jack, it's lovely to meet you, will you _please_ get to the point,” Aziraphale muttered to the radio.

“I'm filling in tonight for your regular host, the famous Mr. AJ Crowley, who had to run off to Hollywood for a session. Can you believe that, eh? What a _legend_. I'm gonna kick us off with some Northern Soul, this is Think It Over by The Harvey Averne Dozen.”

Oh, so it was Crowley who was already out of town? Running off to Hollywood? Aziraphale felt his face flush. He didn't exactly have a right to be angry, but surely Crowley could have told him, so he wouldn't – Aziraphale remembered what Crowley had said as he stormed out of the bookshop on Christmas Eve. _You had to make me go and worry._ Ah, he deserved this right and well, didn't he?

“All right. Fine, then.” Aziraphale stood up and went upstairs. Time to pack, time to get out of town. A week or two in... ah! Paris. Of course, Paris. A week in Paris would do him a world of good.

 

* * *

 

samedi 10 janvier 1976  
Le Boeuf sur le Toit  
8e arrondissement,  
Paris, France

There were few places in the world Aziraphale loved as much as Paris. He loved the City of Lights enough to travel here the earthly way; thank heavens for the recent renovations to the airport. After settling in to his hotel and changing clothes, he headed out for a favorite spot: Le Boeuf sur le Toit. The famed cabaret had moved a few times since he'd been here last, just before the Second World War.

After getting caught up in the Revolution and needing a certain demon to come save him from discorporation and all the associated paperwork, Aziraphale had studied French and done his best to improve his skills. Sure, an angel could always use a miracle or two to translate, but he felt a thrill of accomplishment each time he was able to communicate in other languages. Especially French. Aziraphale did use a very _small_ miracle to ensure himself a seat in a booth near the piano, and settled in for what he hoped would be a delightful evening.

He had barely taken his first sip of a superb Burgundy (really, to _die_ for) when a tall man wearing an impeccably tailored black suit slowly approached his table. He set his cane against the booth and took off his hat before addressing Aziraphale.

«Vous avez l'air de rechercher un compagnon pour profiter de cette musique, puis-je me joindre à vous?» / “You look like you might desire a companion for the music, may I join you?” he asked so politely and so charmingly, Aziraphale couldn't really say no, could he?

His name was Lucien, and he was probably twenty years older than the age Aziraphale presented as. He had soulful brown eyes, and it didn't take long before Aziraphale learned he was well read, intelligent, and cultured. They spent a few hours discussing favorite travel locations, sharing stories over wine, dinner, dessert, and more wine; light and breezy surface conversation of the exact kind that Aziraphale needed. They had just ordered some port when Lucien excused himself, poorly concealing the fact that he was walking back to the bar to pick up the check.

Aziraphale listened as the pianist played a long intro, was this? Ahh, it was. He leaned back into the booth and let the music and the pleasant buzz of a lovely evening wash over him. As Lucien came back, Aziraphale noticed his cane was topped by a yellow ball with a black snake winding up around it.

«Quelle magnifique chanson» / “Such a beautiful song,” Lucien said. «Encore meilleure lorsqu'elle s'écoute bien accompagné.» / “Even better with wonderful company.”

Aziraphale smiled. «Bien d'accord.» / “I agree.”

Lucien paused, then took Aziraphale's hand. «Je me demandais si vous aimeriez vous joindre à moi pour un spectacle ce mercredi soir. Un spectacle pour... des gens de la jaquette comme nous.» / “I wonder if you would like to join me for a show on Wednesday night. A show for... men like us.”

«Avec plaisir, » / “It would be my pleasure,” Aziraphale said.

«Vous résidez actuellement à l'hôtel non loin d'ici, n'est-ce pas? Puis-je vous y raccompagner?» / “You are staying at the hotel nearby, you said? May I walk you there?”

Aziraphale caught another glance at the top of Lucien's cane and his breath caught in his chest. «J'apprécie votre offre, mais je ne viens pas à Paris souvent. Je vais rester pour continuer d'écouter la musique.» / “I appreciate your offer, but I am not in Paris often. I'm going to stay and continue to listen to the music.”

«Comme il vous plaira,» / “As you like,” Lucien said. He pulled an expensive fountain pen from his pocket and wrote his number down on the back of a card. «Pour que vous puissiez me contacter. Je vous verrai mercredi?» / “So you can contact me. I will see you on Wednesday?”

«Oui, merci,» / “Yes. Thank you,” Aziraphale leaned in to allow Lucien the traditional French goodbye kiss on both of his cheeks. He was surprised when Lucien instead took his long fingers and ran them tenderly over his jawline.

«Vous avez le visage d'un ange,» / “You have the face of an angel,” Lucien said, before kissing Aziraphale gently on the lips. He donned his hat and coat and bowed slightly to Aziraphale before walking out the door. He was tall and graceful, so of course he reminded Aziraphale... of Crowley. He sighed and stared into the last of his glass of port. The pianist had a lovely voice, and had been singing so well all evening. Aziraphale caught the last few emotional lines of La Belle Vie and squirmed in his seat.

 _alors pense que moi je t'aime / so I think that I love you_  
_et quand tu auras compris / and when you understand_  
_réveille-toi / wake up_  
_je serai là / I will be there_  
_pour toi / for you_

Aziraphale felt a bitter taste rising in his throat, and he left the cafe with the feeling that this was all getting to be a bit too personal.

* * *

 

dimanche 11 janvier 1976  
Bains Douches Saint-Merri  
4e arrondissement

Aziraphale made his way to the bathhouse after stopping for a fresh haircut and shave. He hadn't been here in probably sixty years or so; it looked a bit worse for wear, but he was happy it still existed. The fact that things come and go, and come and go, (and come and go) was a major problem for an eternal being whose tastes changed at a glacial pace. Aziraphale normally preferred to dress more modestly, but he was here to have fun, to see and be seen, so he changed into a light tan pair of short, tight swim trunks he'd conjured up for himself. (It was always hard to find good swim trunks in winter.) After a brisk shower, he followed the signs labeled 'les hommes' and sank into the large hot tub.

He locked eyes with a handsome brunet in the cold pool and held his gaze for a few moments. Once Aziraphale felt certain he'd gotten his message across, he threw his head back and gently splashed some water up over his bare chest and neck, taking a little extra time to run his hands suggestively over his collarbones. It had been a while since he'd cruised, but it was always easy for him to climb back up on the horse, so to speak. The next thing Aziraphale heard was the sound of water splashing as the man climbed in and sat next to him. He had a sharp, square jaw with a bit of stubble coming in, lovely, long dark hair, and deep brown eyes framed with thick eyelashes.

«Je ne t’ai jamais vu ici auparavant.» / “I've never seen you here before,”the man said.

«C’est probablement car j’habite à Londres.» / “That's probably because I live in London.” Aziraphale loved this part of the game.

«Ça te dirait de venir avec moi?» “Would you like to come with me?”

«Oui, avec plaisir.» / “Yes, I would.”

Before leaving the hotel, Aziraphale had manifested a slightly larger Effort than normal, nothing freakish, just big enough to impress and entice. He followed the man down a tiled hallway and into an open utility closet. The man closed the door and immediately reached his hand under the elastic band of Aziraphale's trunks.

«Je peux?» / “May I?” he asked.

«Bien sur,» / “Please,” Aziraphale answered as he helped him lower his trunks; he soon felt the delightful sensation of a warm mouth on the tip of his cock, and the brunet moaned a bit as he began working up and down.

«Tu es bien monté.» / “You're quite well-hung.”

«Uh, merci?» / “Uh, thank you?” Aziraphale leaned his head back against the wall and gave in to the pleasure; the man was very skilled with his mouth and it wasn't long before he was fully hard. He gave a slow experimental thrust forward to gauge the reaction. «Est-ce que c’est ok?» / “Is that okay?” he asked.

The man popped off his cock and gazed upwards at Aziraphale while wiping his face off. There was just enough light coming in from below the door for Aziraphale to catch the hungry look in his eyes, but he needed to know - «Ah, oui, j’aime être utilisé.» / “Ah, please, I like to be used.” Aziraphale's eyes went wide, and the brunet grinned.

«Comme tu veux,» / “As you like,” Aziraphale pushed his cock deeper into the man's throat and made absolutely sure they were on the same page. «Est-ce que tout va bien?» / “Is everything alright?”

«S’il-te plait, utilise moi,» / “Please, use me,” the brunet responded, and with that, Aziraphale could no longer hold himself back. He grabbed a firm handful of the brunet's long hair and thrust deeply into his mouth with a low grunt. He had absolutely no idea how to say 'do you like me fucking your face' in French so he worked instead on matching the brunet's enthusiasm with basic phrases of contentment like «c’est tellement bon» / “that's so good” and «tu me prends si bien en bouche» / “you take me so well in your mouth,” delighting in the noises of pleasure his words of praise produced.  
He threaded his hands through the brunet's gorgeous, thick, long, hair and couldn't help himself from thinking of the only time he'd touched Crowley's hair in earnest, back, way back in Mesopotamia.

Crowley had turned his back to Aziraphale and quietly asked for a favor. “Do you think you could redo the rest of this braid for me, Angel?” They were both soaking wet from the storm the Almighty had ordered, although they had both made it to safety. (Unlike all humans in the immediate vicinity.)

Crowley didn't try to mask his grief at seeing so many innocent lives lost; this was before he started wearing sunglasses to hide his every emotion. Aziraphale missed the days he could look into those beautiful, gleaming yellow eyes and read them like the sacred volumes they were.

“I don't know how to make a braid.” Aziraphale had stared at the intact top half of the braid and tried to figure it out.

“Oh, it's easy, I can tell you how. Do you see the three sections in there?” Crowley reached up and effortlessly separated the strands out with his long, graceful fingers.

“Ahh, yes. I see that.”

“Okay, so take the outside ones in your hands.” He held the two outside sections in his hands and Aziraphale's fingers brushed against Crowley's as the angel took them.

“All right, what now?”

Crowley began gesturing with his hands, figuring out how to explain the motion to Aziraphale. “Now take the outside one and wrap it over the one in the middle.”

Aziraphale wrapped an outer section over. “Now what?”

“Now you do the same thing, but from the other side. You always want to be wrapping it around the middle.”

After a few passes, Aziraphale felt like he was getting the hang of it.

“Let me feel how it's going,” Crowley said, reaching around and touching the braid. “Not bad.”

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale stammered, “I don't really know what I'm doing here -”

Crowley cut him off. “It's not a problem, Angel. Don't be afraid to pull it a bit tight. I want it to stay put.”

Aziraphale pulled the edges of the braid tighter, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and Crowley let out a small whimper of a sound. He felt himself flush; back then, he hadn't completely understood, but he surely did now.

Aziraphale imagined Crowley on his knees before him; he imagined his hands caught up in that luscious red hair, pulling just hard enough to elicit a gasp or a moan from the demon. He thought of looking down and gazing into those glowing yellow eyes, seeing Crowley's lips wrapped around his -

And that was all it took for the angel; his vision went black and he nearly fell forward onto the brunet, who pulled away with a satisfied moan and let Aziraphale come all over his face.

«Je peux retourner la faveur?» / “Can I return the favor?” Aziraphale asked as he caught his breath.

«Non.» / “No,” the brunet stood and wiped his face.

Aziraphale made a noise in protest but was interrupted.

«-Ce n'est pas un problème,» / “-It's not a problem,” was all he said before he exited the closet.

Aziraphale didn't even know what to think. It wasn't the first time he'd had a casual encounter, it wouldn't be the last, and he'd explicitly asked for and gotten consent. He had been _really_ pent up and frankly, it was an amazing blow job.

So why did he feel so overwhelmingly sad?

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale had enjoyed a calm day of sitting and reading inside a cafe along the Canal Saint Martin. After finishing up a book in the late afternoon, he decided to walk back to the hotel. It was brisk, but not terribly cold, and he ducked into little shops here and there whenever he needed a bit of warmth.  
He spotted a sign that caught his eye in the window of a magasin de disques.

Serge Gainsbourg et Jane Birkin! Écoutez la chanson censée inspirer un hit disco 'Love to Love You Baby' / Hear the song that is said to inspire disco hit 'Love to Love You Baby'

Aziraphale walked into the shop and picked up the album. He had only been into a record shop a few times, but he felt it might be a good thing to make a habit of it once back in London. He liked the smell of vinyl and cardboard, the various organization systems, and most of all, the feeling of being amongst a large collection of items. He grabbed a few singles from a sale table and balanced them on top of the larger record.

The man behind the counter walked over and handed him a small basket. “My name is Gilles. I can speak a bit of English,” he said.

«Enchanté, Gilles, c'est bon,» / “Nice to meet you, Gilles, it's good,” Aziraphale responded, en francais. He needed to keep his skills up if he planned on coming over at least twice a decade. «Je ferais mieux de m'entraîner, si ce n'est pas trop dérangeant pour vous.» / “I'd better practice, if it's not too disturbing for you.”

He laughed. «Pas de problème. Est-ce que vous recherchez un genre musical particulier?» / “No problem. Are you looking for any particular type of music?”

«Je recherche simplement un cadeau, pour un ami qui aime la musique» / “Just looking for a gift, for a friend who loves music.” When was the last time he'd bought Crowley a gift? He thought and thought, and he couldn't remember. A familiar sinking feeling of guilt swept over him.

«Ces deux que vous avez choisis sont plutôt bons, surtout si votre ami ne connaît pas notre musique,» / “These two you've picked are quite good, especially if your friend does not know our music,” he said approvingly.

«Ah, tant mieux. Auriez-vous quelque chose de plus récent?» / “Ah, good. Do you have anything newer?” Aziraphale asked.

Gilles' face lit up and he pulled out a record with a simple design, a woman's face and the outline of a house over a soft peach background.

«Et pour votre ami, vous devez absolument prendre ceci, si vous voulez qu'il ait _le meilleur_ de ce que la chanson française a à offrir en ce moment. Elle est un bijou, et cet album est merveilleux.» / “And for your friend, you must also get this, if you want your friend to have the _best_ of what French music has to offer right now. She is a jewel. This album is wonderful.” Aziraphale felt he was being pressured a bit to buy more records, but he honestly didn't mind.

«Auriez-vous une autre recommendation?» / “Anything else you would recommend? My friend, he,”] how to say this?«il est à la radio, il joue des musiques pour-» / “He is on the radio, playing records for-”

«Ah! Votre ami est DJ?!» / “Ah! Your friend is a DJ?!” the clerk was apparently very excited by this information. Aziraphale watched helplessly as he frantically gathered up a large stack of records and singles. It was a small thing really, a pile of records. Aziraphale knew full well it wouldn't make up for the way he'd behaved, but the thought of getting even a tiny, secret smile out of Crowley filled his chest with warmth. Now, how in the heavens was he going to get all this back to his hotel?

 

* * *

 

mercredi 14 janvier 1976  
le Marais  
3e arrondissement

Lucien insisted on meeting Aziraphale at his hotel; he was immaculately dressed in another black suit with golden threads woven in here and there. They took a cab to a small club in Le Marais. Lucien had reserved them a table near the front of the stage, and was greeted by almost everyone in the club. Aziraphale thought he overheard the phrase «mon ange» as Lucien gestured to him. They sat at their table as a lively drag queen was in the midst of working the crowd to a yé-yé song. She spun her way through the tables and landed in a few laps along the way.

 _Laisse tomber les filles, laisse tomber les filles / leave the girls alone, leave the girls alone_  
_Un jour c'est toi qu'on laissera / one day it's you we will leave_  
_Laisse tomber les filles, laisse tomber les filles / leave the girls alone, leave the girls alone_  
_Un jour c'est toi qui pleureras / one day it's you who will cry_  
_Alors tu te rappelleras tout ce que je te dis là / Then you'll remember everything I tell you_  
_Tout ce que je te dis là / All I tell you there_

A man wearing slim tuxedo pants and a blazer with nothing underneath walked onto the stage and presented the drag queen to the crowd, motioning for applause: “Joanne Rivers!” The room burst into applause.

«Elle nous a demandé de "laisser tomber les filles," ça ne devrait pas être bien difficile pour nous autres,» / “She has asked us all to 'leave the girls alone,' that shouldn't be too difficult for this crowd,” the host said, gesturing around. Aziraphale laughed; he was glad to be able to pick up the joke. Joanne Rivers made her way off stage, stopping for kisses and a bit of small talk with Lucien, who looked absolutely thrilled to see her.

The host continued. «Nous avons une surprise toute particulière pour vous ce soir, une véritable icône a accepté de chanter une chanson pour nous.» / “We have a very special surprise for everyone tonight, a true icon has agreed to sing a song for us.”

“Mon Dieu!” The sounds of gasps and hushed whispers rippled through the cabaret as a tall, elegant woman dressed in black slowly made her way to the stage, stopping every few steps to kiss someone on the hand or on the cheek.

“C'est _Barbara_ ,” Lucien said, breathless with wonder. Aziraphale had no idea who Barbara was, but she was apparently quite famous, and well-loved by everyone in the gay cabaret.

«Cette incroyable femme n'a nul besoin d'être présentée,» / “This incredible woman needs no introduction,” the host said. Barbara bowed slightly, and the corners of her mouth crept up into the most melancholy smile Aziraphale had ever seen.

«Pour vous tous, mes chéris, une chanson qui est chère à mon coeur. Je vous suis à tous reconnaissante, et à jamais.» / “For you all, my special darlings, a song that is quite personal for me. I am forever grateful to you all.” There was a heavy cloud of sadness around her, yet she held herself with such grace. It wasn't just her gorgeous black clothing; she reminded Aziraphale so much of Crowley, bravely carrying his sorrow for millennia. He pursed his lips and began to fidget with the bottom edge of his vest.

An accordion player began to play and Barbara began to sing; she only got a few words out before the entire room burst into applause which quickly died down. She gestured grandly as she sang; she was telling a story, Aziraphale knew that much. He caught up several lines in:

 _Du plus loin qu'il m'en souvienne / As far back as I can remember_  
_Si depuis, j'ai dit "je t'aime" / if since then, I said “I love you”_  
_Ma plus belle histoire d'amour, c'est vous / My best love story is you_

Several people were quietly singing along, and almost everyone in the room was mouthing the words with a smile on their face. Barbara took a few measures to give the crowd some gentle encouragement, «Ne vous abstenez pas de chanter si c'est ce que votre coeur désire,» / “Please, do not keep yourself from singing if your heart desires,” then seamlessly dipped back into the next verse. Aziraphale's mind wandered to his favorite memory of Paris, one with Crowley, of course.

After Crowley had saved Aziraphale from the guillotine, they'd gone for crepes. Then Crowley had insisted on taking Aziraphale to a modest clothing shop and buying him a new outfit that would allow him to get back to London without another unfortunate run-in with the overeager revolutionaries.

Aziraphale ducked into a bar to change into the new clothes and walked out looking a bit deflated.

“I know it's not your style, Angel, but...” Crowley didn't finish his sentence. Aziraphale took the pause to redirect his train of thought. He was truly lucky Crowley had showed up and rescued him from a traumatic discorporation; now wasn't the time to get fussy about anything as insignificant as clothing.

“Well, it's quite a nice day. Figured we could at least, I don't know, feed the ducks. Or the swans. Or whatever type of birds they've got here.” Crowley placed his hands behind his back and began scraping the ground with the toe of his boot; it was only then that Aziraphale realized Crowley wanted to spend more time with him. He tried to respond without revealing how this thrilled him.

“It is a lovely day, isn't it?”

Crowley tried to hide the slightest twitch of a smile, but Aziraphale had learned to read the rest of his face since his eyes were often hidden.

They'd walked through the streets of Paris for hours, avoiding revolutionary activity and aristocratic strongholds alike (there might have been a bit of magic involved, but no one really needed to know). Eventually, they'd found some day-old bread and made their way to a hidden spot on the edge of the Jardin des plantes. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel overwhemingly tender as he listened to Crowley describe the various species of plants in the garden. They sat down on a bench and broke the bread into tiny crumbs.

“I know I probably shouldn't say this, but,” Aziraphale lowered his voice, “thank you. Truly.” Crowley looked at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the small songbirds at his feet.

“It's not a problem.” Crowley said matter-of-factly as he held out a small crust of bread for a brave urban canary, who snatched it directly from Crowley's fingers. Aziraphale moved slightly closer to Crowley (under the guise of looking down at the bird), until the edge of his thigh was just barely touching Crowley's. Neither of them moved for a long time.

Aziraphale snapped back to the present as Lucien took his hand and held it tenderly. He was gazing at Barbara fondly and mouthing all the words to the song. Aziraphale felt so guilty; Lucien was really being far too good to him. Over the course of a couple thousand years, he couldn't even figure out how to treat Crowley (his best friend, his love) right. He certainly didn't deserve this kindness.

 _Je suis venue pour vous dire / I came to tell you_  
_Ma plus belle histoire d'amour, c'est vous / My best love story is you_

«N'est-ce pas le plus belle chanson du monde?» / “Isn't it the most beautiful song in the world?” Lucien softly kissed the back of Aziraphale's hand.

Aziraphale could only nod.

* * *

 

jeudi 15 janvier 1976  
8e arrondissemont

Aziraphale expected that Lucien would ask him back to his flat, and he expected that Lucien would offer him his arm on the way home. What he didn't expect was to enter Lucien's spacious flat and see it covered from floor to ceiling with paintings in all sizes. He followed Lucien through the main studio into the sitting room. In an open space among the stacks and stacks of completed work, there was a large easel with a work in progress; a golden falling star on a background of black and maroon swirls. Most of the paintings were in a similar palette of gold, red, maroon, yellow, and black, and almost all of them featured the stars and constellations.

«Ces peintures sont-elles de vous?» / “Is this your work?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. Lucien nodded.

«Toutes les peintures?» / “All of them?”

«Je possède également de nombreux cadeaux d'amis.» / “I have many gifts from friends over the years.]” He pointed at a small painting hanging near the door that separated the sitting room from his studio; a bright and colorful image of two men sitting by a riverbank. «Celle-ci était un cadeau de mon ami René. Il commençait à bien se faire connaître en tant qu'artiste quand....et bien quand la France est tombée. J'étais jeune à l'époque, et me trouvais à Limoges, d'où je viens.» / This was a gift from my friend Rene. He was getting to be a well-known artist when... when France fell. I was a young man back then. I was in Limoges, where I am from.” Lucien pulled out a cigarette. «Cela vous dérange-t-il si je fume?» / “Do you mind if I smoke?”

«Non, nous sommes chez vous, après tout,» / “No, we are in your home after all,” Aziraphale said.

«Est-ce que cela vous dérangerait que je parle?» / «Do you mind if I speak?»

«....Non?» / “...No?” Lucien saw the confused look on Azirphale's face.

«Peut-être devrais-je préciser. Est-ce que cela vous dérangerait que je parle de mes expériences durant la guerre? Je n'ai pas souvent de visiteurs à qui parler.» / “Perhaps I should clarify. Do you mind if I speak about some of my experiences during the war? I don't often have visitors like this.”

«Allez-y, bien sûr.» / “Of course.” It was such a small request; there was no way Aziraphale could deny him.

Lucien spoke for hours about his experiences during the Second World War. He had been a high ranking military official in Limoges, which was in the unoccupied zone after France was split into two. Limoges was the main destination for many Jewish people forced to flee from occupied Alsace-Lorraine; Lucien used his access to official documents to change medical information and sabotage census records to keep them from deportation; he collected weapons from French citizens and passed them on to the underground instead of destroying them. Aziraphale listened with rapt attention. He knew about war as a general concept; he had even spent a not-insignificant amount of time healing people on battlefields. But he'd never listened to someone describe their experience of war, the humanity of it. Lucien told him about the many close calls and the friends he lost.

«Vous vous êtes mis en grave danger,» / “You put yourself at great risk,” Aziraphale said.

Lucien scoffed and shook his head. «Je ne suis pas un héros, je ne faisais que les petites choses. J'aimerais en avoir fait davantage.» / “I am no hero. I did small things. I only wish I had done more.” He pretended to scratch his ear and discreetly wiped a tear from the outer corner of his eye.

«J'espère ne pas t'avoir contrarié, mon ange,» / “I hope I haven't upset you, my angel,” Lucien said. He clasped his hands in his lap.

«Non...» / “No...” Aziraphale murmured. No one besides Crowley had ever called him 'angel,' but he knew certain humans could pick up on divine energies.

«J'ai vu bien des choses terribles dans ma vie, toutes ces choses que les hommes font à leurs propres frères. Je ne crois pas en un Dieu qui permettrait de telles horreurs.» / “I have seen a lot of awful things in this life, all things that we humans have done to one another. I do not believe in any God who would allow us to do such things.” Lucien gestured around. «J'ai commencé à peindre pour exprimer mes émotions. Je pense que cela aide, mais malheureusement, je n'ai plus beaucoup de place,» / “I started painting mainly to express these feelings. I think it helps. But sadly, I am running out of room,” he laughed.

It wasn't often that Aziraphale felt out of his depth, but this was one of these times. There were humans who'd seen and experienced more in sixty or seventy short years than he had in all of his existence. He was completely in awe of Lucien, and he suddenly felt quite small. This man was unlike any human he'd ever met, and he couldn't – _he couldn't_ \- use him as simply a means to cope with his own problems.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Lucien's cheek. «Lucien, j'ai bien peur de devoir partir. Vous êtes - je crois que vous méritez quelque chose que je ne peux pas vous procurer.» / “Lucien, I'm afraid I must go. You are - I feel you deserve something which I cannot give you.” Aziraphale choked back his emotions as best he could.

Lucien cleared his throat. «Êtes-vous mal à l'aise ? Ai-je fait quelque chose de mal?» / “Are you uncomfortable? Have I done something wrong?”

«Oh, non. Non. Pas du tout,» / “Oh, no. No. not at all,” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Lucien on the cheek. «Mais j'ai peur d'être le coupable.» / “But I'm afraid I have.”

«Vous n'avez rien fait de mal, mon ange, vous avez un coeur plein de bonté,» / “You have done nothing wrong, my angel, I can tell you have a very good heart,” Lucien smiled at him sadly. «Je suis navré si je vous ai transmis de ma tristesse.» / “I am sorry if I have brought my sadness upon you.”

«Oh, non, Lucien. Vous êtes merveilleux, vraiment merveilleux.» / “Oh, no, Lucien. You are wonderful, truly wonderful.” He paused. Perhaps Lucien was the right person to confide in. «Je suis amoureux de quelqu'un et j'ai peur de lui dire.» / “I love someone and I am afraid to tell him.” Aziraphale had never said these words aloud; speaking them in a language he had worked so hard to learn felt like it was still secret knowledge.

“Ahh,” Lucien hummed. «L'amour est un trésor. Vous devez le suivre où il vous mènera.» / “Love is a treasure. You must follow wherever it leads.”

Aziraphale felt a hot tear run down his cheek and decided not to fight it. «Vous avez raison,» / “You're right,” he whispered.

«N'attendez pas!» / “Don't wait!” Lucien gently slapped Aziraphale's knee. «Allez lui dire votre amour. Restez peut-être en contact avec un vieil homme comme moi, si vous pouvez trouver cette force dans votre coeur?» / “Tell your love. But maybe stay in touch with an old man, if you can find it in your heart?”

«Oui,» / “Yes,” Aziraphale said with no hesitation. «J'y perdrai à ne pas vous connaître.» / “It would be my loss not to know you.”

Lucien again kissed his hand. «J'espère vous revoir. Certains disent que je suis un bon ami à avoir.» / “I hope to see you again. Some people say I am quite a good friend to have.”

«Et "certains" auraient tout à fait raison.» / “I would say that 'some people' are absolutely correct.” He squeezed Lucien's hand and then made his way to the door.

Aziraphale stepped outside the flat and took a deep breath. He stood still for a while and thought about what would be an appropriate blessing for such a man. The angel eventually decided to mark the door of Lucien's flat with a protective symbol in the original celestial glyphs; loosely translated, it meant 'righteous.' A brilliant flash of light and it was done. This was the angelic work he loved doing most; he felt good, he felt free.

He rushed back to the hotel and hurriedly packed up his suitcases, being especially careful with the records. It had been a while since he'd miracled himself home, but this was important. Aziraphale had a plan: he would listen to Crowley's set; then go right to his flat and try his best to sort this all out. It was long past time for him to be the one to make a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh Paris. I love Paris. 
> 
> France Gall is one of my favorite singers! and I love "La Belle Vie," you may know this song well in English as "The Good Life" and it might make you cry. 
> 
> Barbara is a very famous French singer: get to know more about her if you don't already: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_(singer)
> 
> The Jane Birkin/Serge Gainsbourg song is quite famous and scandalous. and on the playlist! We might also find out in some future chapters what other records Aziraphale picked up for Crowley in Paris! [eyes_emoji.jpeg]
> 
> I fell deeply in love with the character of Lucien as I was writing him (Lucien means "light") and I wanted him to be the sort of human that Aziraphale would be truly awed by. On a whim I googled 'Righteous Among the Nations' and 'Lucien' and after a bit of searching this came up: http://db.yadvashem.org/righteous/family.html?language=en&itemId=4013885
> 
> I don't know anything about the Lucien in real life other than what's listed here. I don't know if he was a gay man, but I do know that many people during history who did amazing things were queer and we may never know their full history due to the way that queer people are regularly erased from history. So this is how I chose to write it. Hope this lands okay with everyone, and I do think that we will see Lucien again. he is such a fascinating man, non?


	17. Let Him Run Wild, He'll Find Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's Crowley been up to in Hollywood? Part 1 of 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for following along. This chapter got up to almost 7k words, and I went ahead and cut it so I can manage it. The next chapter will be up tomorrow or Friday. :) I think I am going start striving to get them down to 2-4k again so that I can write and post more frequently. Let me know your thoughts! I'm overcome with ideas (in a good way). Thanks so much to everyone for all the lovely comments and posts, I appreciate every single one of you so very much! <3

Wednesday 7 January 1976  
Mayfair, London

Crowley had been brooding a bit since New Year's; part of it was getting over a three-day hangover that no magical intervention seemed to improve, and part of it was being alone again for the first time in several days. Being out on the town with Donna and DJing parties was a lot more fun than being curled up as a serpent under the radiator, thinking about why Aziraphale had stood him up on Christmas Eve.

A few days after the New Year, the manager for a band called Tavares had asked if he wanted to come in to Los Angeles for a week or so to be an extra engineer for a session. Crowley was moody, bored, and still quite upset, but he dragged himself out of the flat to track down their latest record and hear it before making a decision. He’d started to enjoy a new ritual: showering while listening to music. The speakers on his console had long cords, and one day he’d decided to pull one of them out and face it into the room while he showered. Complete game-changer. Crowley threw on the Tavares record and hopped in the shower.

He let the “rain” from his showerhead fall onto him as he scrubbed his scalp with a new mint-chamomile shampoo. Before Donna left, she'd taken him back to Harrod's, this time to the cosmetics counters. She'd shown him a few of her favorite body care lines and he had happily sniffed bottle after bottle of shampoo, conditioner, body lotion, and several other potions before she stopped halfway through reading the description of a scented body powder.

“Ahh shit,” Donna said as she looked around. “AJ, I think I left my coat somewhere. Do you mind going to customer service or...? I can't remember where I had it last.” She looked genuinely distressed, so Crowley had agreed without a second thought. He dashed off to client services. The coat wasn't there. He went back up to women's clothing. He didn't see Annie working today, so he asked the clerk on duty to check in the dressing rooms to see if it was there. She came back empty-handed.

Crowley was frustrated as he headed back to the counter. It seemed a simple task; he should have been able to find the coat. Maybe he could just buy Donna a new one, since they were here already. When he finally made it back to the Molton Brown counter, Donna was standing there with her coat and two large shopping bags. Crowley cocked his head to the side and threw a hand on his hip.

“I know you didn't just send me on a wild goose chase to buy me a bunch of soap,” Crowley said, even though he knew that was exaclty what she had done. Donna let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scream as she pointed right at him.

“I got you!” she said, before collapsing into giggles. “I handed my coat to her while you were getting that hand massage. And I got you all this.” Donna handed Crowley the two heavy bags.

“You really didn't have to,” Crowley said fondly.

“I told you, I have my own money.” Donna smiled at him. “But it's all really heavy, so you have to carry it.” Crowley laughed and they walked out into the cold grey winter day.

Crowley smiled as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. He was quite happy to have all these nice new products; his hair had never felt so soft or smelled so nice. There was a moment of silence before the next song started off with an upbeat horn riff. Crowley bopped along while applying conditioner to his ends. He had an extra razor sitting in the shower and decided to shave his legs and arms while he was in here. Why not? The music was nice and he loved being under the warm water. A good hot shower did wonders for an old cranky serpent trying to make it through winter. He was dimly aware of some 'don't wanna's carrying on the melody, and he put his hands on the wall of the shower stall and shook his hips around a bit.

 _Cause there's nothing you can do to make me stop!_  
_Loving you, baby_  
_Nothing you can say_  
_Would make me turn away_

Crowley sighed. The only disadvantage to working in the music industry was that practically every song he heard, _ever_ , reminded him of Aziraphale. He had done a decent job of stuffing his feelings down. It was no longer the first thing he thought about when waking up, or the last thing he thought about before trying to sleep, but dammit if it didn't still hurt. He hadn't bothered to call Aziraphale back; he wasn't in the mood to deal with it yet. Crowley felt no need to rush back into the closeness they'd fallen into over the past few years. Better for Aziraphale to stand him up with no explanation, than to have to hear yet another rejection to his face. Nothing had hurt quite like that night in Soho.

'Ups and downs, there are bound to be ups and downs over a couple thousand years,' Crowley muttered as he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He'd never been to LA before; why not go on the record company's dime? He wrapped a second towel around his hair and checked the time on his new world clock. It was just now 10am in Los Angeles. He had plenty of time to call and agree to do the session. Once he got through to Tavares' manager, it only took a few minutes to get everything from his flight to his hotel sorted. He hated to fly, truly he did, but none of his supervisors in Hell had any idea what he'd been up to for the past several years, and he didn't feel much like talking to them. No sense calling attention to himself with unnecessary demonic interventions.

“I could stand to get out of town for a while,” he said to himself. Crowley threatened his plants for a few minutes and then remembered that he'd need to see if Jack was around to cover his Thursday night. He thumbed through his makeshift phone directory (a notepad he'd nicked from Sigma Sound in Philadelphia) and his fingers lingered over Bob Crewe's number. He had asked Crowley to let him know if he'd be in the States, and now he was heading back over. What the hell? Crowley dialed the number before he started to overthink it.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hi, uh, Bob? It's AJ. From London.”  
  
Bob chuckled. “I know who you are, silly. Good to hear from you.”  
  
Crowley sucked in a deep breath. “So how... uh, how are things?”  
  
“Things are good, but I'm running out the door as we speak. Can I give you a call back? Tell me when I can call you.”  
  
“It's a quick thing, actually,” Crowley continued. “I'm going to LA for a session on January 10th and I... I just wanted to let you know I was going to be there.” The minute the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Surely Bob hadn't actually meant that in the way he –  
  
“Oh! Excellent. Well, if you're going to be in LA, then I'll be in LA,” Bob said confidently. “Give me your flight info and I'll pick you up at the airport. Let me give you the office number so you can leave it with someone if I'm not at home.” He rattled off a number and Crowley wrote it down.  
  
“Ah, well then... all right,” Crowley said. “Have fun out there.”“Ha! I'll see you soon.” Bob hung up the phone and Crowley set the receiver back in the cradle. He was suddenly as nervous as he'd been before DJing Freddie fucking Mercury’s Christmas Eve party.

* * *

 

Thursday, January 8th, 1976  
Los Angeles International Airport  
El Segundo, California

After a wretched, turbulent flight from London to New York, Crowley had used a bit of persuasion to get an upgrade to first class on the next leg of his flight. After several shots' worth of whisky, the five hours to LA didn't seem so bad. Crowley was surprised to see Bob waiting for him at the gate with a small sign that said simply, “AJ.” He looked around and saw many other people holding up signs with names on them and waving joyously at the sight of their loved ones.

“Hey there, stranger.” Bob wasted no time before pulling him into a warm hug. “How was your flight?”

Crowley scrunched his mouth downwards and grumbled a noise of disgust. This got quite the laugh out of Bob.

“I hate to fly, too,” Bob said. “How you feeling? Are you hungry?”

“I... um,” Crowley was overwhelmed by all the questions and the swooping sensation in his stomach. “I’m feeling good, yeah. Not terribly hungry, but I could peck at something.”

Crowley followed Bob out of the terminal and once outside, couldn’t stop from putting a hand over his eyes. Even with his dark sunglasses, it was so overwhelmingly bright. Bob opened the trunk of a red convertible and placed Crowley’s bag inside. Once they were in the car, he handed Crowley a baseball cap with the words _California Dreamin_ ' printed over a silhouette of a wave.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked.

“Your eyes. I figured you might need a little extra shade, what with all the California sunshine.” Bob smiled at him, that bright perfect smile, and put on his own sunglasses.

“Have you ever seen the Pacific Ocean?” he asked.

“No,” Crowley said.

“All right. Then my first plan will work. You ready?”

Crowley whipped his head around. “You had multiple plans for today?”

“Well, yeah!” Bob laughed. “Don’t worry, they all involved showing you a really wonderful time.”

* * *

 

Playa del Rey, California

Crowley had never ridden in a convertible before; he pushed his hair out of his face about a dozen times before conjuring himself a hair tie. Bob told him the names of a half dozen streets and interchanges and neighborhoods they were passing through. A dramatic string-heavy intro came on the radio and Bob nudged the dial just a little higher. The beat dropped just as they rounded a corner and the sparkling Pacific Ocean came into view.

 _California sunset_  
_California women_  
_So fine, they got me feelin’ so fine_  
_You take some California sunshine_  
_And some California red wine_  
_And you’re having, you’re having the time of your life_

He couldn't stop himself from shaking his head in time as he gazed around in wonder. Everything was different here; he'd never seen light quite like this. It was as if the entire coastline had been dipped in gold. Crowley looked down at Bob's fingers drumming on top of the clutch. Just as Crowley wondered what would happen if he were to place his hand overtop his, Bob shifted into a higher gear and effortlessly reached over, gently taking Crowley's hand.

“Is this okay?” Bob asked.

“Yes,” Crowley croaked.

Bob looked over and flashed him a warm smile and Crowley felt a fluttering in his chest. After driving parallel to the ocean for a while, Bob pulled off into a parking lot and found a spot close to a pathway over a small sand dune. He kicked his shoes off, stuffed his socks inside, and tossed them back in the car; Crowley did the same. While he was bent down dealing with his shoes, something soft and pastel landed overtop his head, and he heard Bob giggling uncontrollably.

“You wanna carry the blanket?”

Crowley fought his way out of the blanket to see Bob grinning at him. He rolled his eyes; Bob picked up on that without even seeing them.

The sun would be setting before too long, and the sand was cool underneath their feet. It didn't take them long to find a nice spot on the beach; Crowley carefully laid down the blanket, doing his best not to get sand on it. Bob pulled out two bottles of wine from the wicker basket, red plastic cups, a few types of cheese, grapes, and a few other assorted snacks Crowley hadn't seen before.

“How's your partner?” Bob asked as he took Crowley's hand in between his.

“Uhhm...” Crowley didn't know who he was talking about.

“My partner is doing well,” he said.

Crowley dropped Bob's hand and began to stammer, “I'm so sorry, I didn't know.”

Bob gave him a confused look. “Why are you sorry? Are you and your partner no longer together?”

“I don't have -”

“Actually, I should apologize, I don't think I got around to telling you about my partner.”

“But, if you have a partner, what are we doing here,” Crowley gestured to the beach blanket and the wine, “like this?”

“I'm in an open relationship,” Bob said.

Crowley cocked his head. “I'm not sure... what that is?”

“Ahh. Let me clarify.” Bob pulled out a wine opener and uncorked one of the bottles. “James is a flight attendant; he's only home about ten or twelve days a month. I'm constantly being called out to sessions, overseas, on tour.” He paused to pour a generous amount of wine into the plastic cups.

“So you don't see each other very often?” Crowley asked as he shoved his cup in his face. He was missing something here.

“Sadly, we don't. It's just not feasible for us to be each other's only partners. So we... we do things this way.”

“Oh.” Crowley thought he understood. “And you're both able to... see other people, if you want?”

“Yep. We've been together for about eleven years at this point and it's what has worked for us.”

Crowley nodded.

“You know, AJ, we don't have to play by _their_ rules,” Bob leaned over on his elbow and looked up at Crowley.

“Their rules? Whose rules we talking about here?”

“We're gay!” Bob said exuberantly. “Well, I mean. _Technically_ , I'm bisexual, but we're not straight people.”

Crowley scrunched his eyebrows together and stared at Bob.

“We don't have to go out and, I don't know. Marry the only person we've ever kissed, have the two point four kids, the dog, the house with the white picket fence.” Bob took a drink of wine. “We're allowed to make our own rules, AJ, and that's what I've done, what James and I have done.”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley said slowly. “Yeah, I guess that rather makes sense.”

“I'm not saying it's always easy, or that it's right for everyone. It's just what works for us.”

Crowley nodded and Bob refilled his glass of wine.

“You like this wine?” Bob asked.

“It's quite good.”

“It's from Napa Valley. For my money, it's just as good as any French stuff you can get these days.”

“Wow,” Crowley took a sip, “I wasn't aware there were vineyards here.”

“California's got it all,” Bob said. Crowley caught a glimpse of his collarbone and quickly looked away.

“Do you... does your partner live here?” Crowley asked.

“Our place is here, and I have a place in New York since I'm there all the time.”

The sun was just at the end of the horizon, and Bob leaned in a bit closer to Crowley.

“It's not as cold as I thought it would be, not quite as warm either,” Crowley said nervously. His hands and feet had gotten quite cold, but he was aware he was sweating a bit under his jacket.

“Once the sun goes down, it'll get real cold real quick,” Bob said as he slipped his arm over Crowley's shoulders. “Just thought you might want to see a real California sunset before you head into the studio for the next week.”

Bob looked at Crowley earnestly, and for a moment Crowley thought he might be going in for a kiss. Bob touched his finger to the tip of Crowley's nose, then looked back at the ocean. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and it wasn't long before twilight started to creep in. Venus was first to appear in the sky, followed by a few bright and familiar stars.

“There's Orion's belt,” Crowley pointed to the line of three stars with his finger, “and there's Taurus.”

“Show me where,” Bob moved and got behind Crowley. He placed his legs on the outside of Crowley's and wrapped his arms around him.

“See that zig zag sort of shape, right there?” Crowley pointed upwards and Bob rested his head on his shoulder.

“I think so, yeah.” Bob's voice and warmth caused all the hairs on Crowley's neck to stand on end.

“Look just to the left and you'll see the three stars that make up Orion's belt,” Crowley said.

“Ahh!” Bob pointed up to the sky. “I can totally see it!” Crowley smiled.

The light continued to fade, and they remained on the beach for quite some time. Crowley talked about the stars and planets until the jet lag caught up with him. Next thing he knew, Bob was gently rubbing his arm and speaking his name.

“AJ... AJ... hey there sleepyhead, I think I better take you back to your hotel.”

“Nrrrrppph,” Crowley muttered as he wiped a bit of drool off the edge of his mouth. “I'm not asleep.”

“Yeah you were, you were in the midst of talking about the sculptor's chisel or something like that and you just,” Bob snapped his fingers, “that was it. You've got to be exhausted. Come on. I can have you to your hotel in a half hour. You can get in a good night's sleep before things get started tomorrow.” He helped Crowley up and they quickly walked back to the car. Crowley reclined his seat and slumped back; he was well and truly beat from a day of traveling.

“You can go back to sleep,” Bob said as he turned the radio on. “They play this song three times a day,” he grumbled as he looked over his shoulder to back the car up.

 _I wish they all could be California girls (wish they all could be California girls)_  
_I wish they all could be California girls (wish they all could be California girls)_

The DJ's voice cut in before the song faded out. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Everybody knows this song, and we play it at least three times a day. But not too many people know this next one, so we're gonna let the record play on. You're listening to K-Earth, and this is Let Him Run Wild, by The Beach Boys.”

Mournful chimes and a distinctive bass sound set the stage for a beautiful male falsetto voice:

_When I watched you walk with him, tears filled my eyes_

“Wow,” Crowley said. “Who the hell is this?”

Bob looked over. “ _Please_ tell me you know who Brian Wilson is.” Crowley was silent. “All right. All right. Actually, that's a good thing, because this is one of their best songs and absolutely no one knows it.”

 _Let him run wild, he don't care_  
_Let him run wild, he'll find out_

Between the whooshing of the wind through his hair and the comforting sound of Bob's voice tracing over the multilayered harmonies, Crowley couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. Sometimes this happened to him if he listened to a song when he was tired; he floated in and out of consciousness while staying deeply tethered to the music. His heart ached at the beauty and sadness wrapped up underneath the gorgeous chord changes and soaring melody.

 _All the dreams you shared with him, you might as well forget_  
_I know you need a truer love, and that's what you'll get_  
_And now that you don't need him? Well, he can have his freedom_

True to his word, Bob pulled up in front of the hotel in Hollywood about a half hour later. He had unloaded Crowley's bag onto a luggage cart before Crowley even stepped out of the car.

“I'm sorry I fell asleep,” Crowley said, rubbing his eyes. “It's not even that late.”

“AJ, it's fine. Go on and get some rest. I'm around all week.” Bob gave him a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek before hopping back into the convertible. Crowley felt a bit tender around the edges as he watched Bob drive away. It occurred to him that he'd been in a vulnerable state, and Bob could have very easily attempted to take advantage of the situation, but didn't. The thought stayed with Crowley as he checked in and made his way to his room. After lugging his bag inside and locking the door, he promptly fell asleep on top of the comforter with all his clothes on. He briefly awoke around 5am Pacific Time to brush the sand off his feet and burrow under the covers for a few more hours of rest.

 


	18. Let Me Live In Your Life For A While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley spends a day in the studio with Tavares and makes an important contribution to a song!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @trickshire for beta-reading while my decrepit self was dealing with back pain today. 
> 
> Also, LOL, I was trying to make this all one chapter and 6500 words later you can see why it didn't work that way. I am gonna just go with the flow of it all - some chapters will be short, some will be longer, it just all has to flow. Thank you so much to everyone for reading along and leaving such lovely comments for me, I appreciate it so much. I'm so excited for where the story goes and I am really glad you are all along for the ride. Thank you so much. Playlist has been updated too!

Friday, January 9, 1976  
Total Experience Recording Studios  
Hollywood, California  
  
Crowley arrived twenty minutes early for the session. He was enjoying having a good reputation (for once) and he didn't want to blow it. It felt totally surreal to see the Capital Records studio on his way in. The outside of the studio wasn't much to look at; obnoxious white concrete walls, similar to many of the buildings in the area. On the inside, the familiar warmth of a recording studio greeted him. The live room was beautiful, with lots of wood and large windows, and the control room was modern but welcoming. He was looking at a few of the gold records on the wall when he heard the external door open.  
  
“Hey, he's already here, get on in here,” said a voice from the hallway. Crowley turned around and came face to face with the five Black men he recognized from the cover of “In The City.” He was incredibly impressed with their clothes; the first thing he noticed was that everyone was wearing bright colored bell bottom pants and sharp shoes.  
  
A man with a neat mustache and a pair of glasses extended his hand. “I'm Chubby Tavares, I uh. I also manage the band so... that was me calling you on the phone,” he said sheepishly.  
  
“Ah, great. Nice to meet you, I'm AJ.”  
  
The only man without facial hair stepped forward. “I'm Ralph Tavares, the big brother.” Crowley didn't quite know what to make of that statement.  
  
“Pleasure,” Crowley shook his hand and kept it extended for the next member of the band.  
  
“He's old, is what he means. I'm Pooch Tavares.” He had a playful smile, a quirked eyebrow, and mutton chops that extended to the center of his cheeks.  
  
“I'm Butch. Butch Tavares,” said a quiet man wearing a white turtleneck under a hand knit sweater. His black curls were loose and flowy, and he seemed to be the shy one of the bunch so far.  
  
“I'm Tiny Tavares,” said the tallest man in the group; his afro was a bit looser around the top and his facial hair was haphazardly growing in patches. He was wearing dark brown sunglasses, which added to his flower child-late sixties sort of vibe.  
  
Crowley looked him up and down. “Wait a minute. You seem to be the tallest.” This was what caused Ralph and Pooch to completely lose it, and they playfully punched Tiny in the arm.  
  
“Y'all knock that off!” Tiny exclaimed. “I'm not the baby brother anymore!”  
  
“You're always the baby brother!” / “That's not how it works,” Pooch and Ralph said at the same time.  
  
“So you're...?” Crowley asked, gesturing with his hand to the five of them assembled together.  
  
“We're brothers,” Tiny said. Crowley crossed his arms and continued to stare. “As in we have the same parents.” All the brothers cracked up into laughter.  
  
“Ahh!” Finally it made sense. Crowley was a bit embarrassed he hadn't read the liner notes more closely. “And Tavares is your... surname, then?”  
  
“Yeah,” Chubby said. “We used to be called the Tavares brothers, now it's just Tavares.”  
  
“Excellent.” Crowley sat down at the console. “Well it's a pleasure to meet all of you, truly.”  
  
Butch cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Thank you for coming all this way.”  
  
Just as Crowley was about to respond, he heard a soft knock on the door. A Black man with a head full of loose, bouncy spiral curls and a long goatee walked slowly into the control room. He was wearing a leather jacket with red and green stripes on the sleeves, and what appeared to be a pair of plastic sticks poking out of his breast pocket. All the Tavares brothers took turns shaking his hand and patting him on the back.  
  
“This is Freddie, he wrote a lot of the songs on the album.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you, AJ,” Freddie held out his hand for Crowley to shake.  
  
“Freddie's also a genius, he does everything from produce to arrange,” Chubby added, and Freddie held his head up proudly.  
  
“Excellent,” Crowley said. Butch and Pooch exchanged a look of surprise.  
  
“You're... good with that?” Pooch asked.  
  
“I'm not here to tell anybody what to do,” Crowley held his hands up in the air. “The more hands on deck, the better. I'm honestly the world's _laziest_ producer.” The entire room cracked up into laughter.  
  
“Come on now, man, your name's getting around,” Chubby said.  
  
“True. But I'm just a facilitator. Whatever you want, I'm here to help you get there. That's all.” The room fell silent and Crowley shuffled his feet a bit.  
  
“All right then, you heard the man,” Freddie said. “Let's get to work.”  
  
“So.” Crowley paused as he looked for familiar buttons on the console. He was now able to find the playback without metaphysical assistance. “Let's hear what you've got, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, let's do that. This is a demo, though so...” Chubby trailed off as he checked the tape.  
  
“It's not that bad,” Tiny said, “I don't think he's gonna leave after he hears it.”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Crowley reassured them.  
  
The playback started with some static and a man's voice snapping and counting off a slow beat. Gentle piano chords came through the speakers, and then Crowley heard at least three distinct voices singing in harmony.  
  
_Heaven_  
_must be missing an angel_  
_Missing one angel child_  
_Cause you're here with me right now  
_  
_Your love is heavenly, baby_  
_Heavenly to me, baby  
_  
Crowley raised his eyebrows at the lyrics and he turned to Freddie, who laughed heartily.  
  
“Yeah, we wanted to start with this one. Heard you're into all this angel stuff.”  
  
Crowley faced ahead to stare at the console and hide the flush he was certain was rising up his cheeks. The demo with only vocals and piano was lovely, and it took Crowley a few moments to get back into producer mode and start thinking of some ideas. The demo ended with a beautiful wall of harmony vocals from the brothers.  
  
“Well, wow. I like it a lot. Nice work, all involved.” Something clicked for Crowley and he turned to Freddie. “Wait a minute. Freddie, what's your last name?”  
  
“Perrin,” he answered.  
  
“Freddie _Perrin_?” Crowley didn't try to hide his excitement. “You wrote 'Do It, Baby,' for The Miracles! I _love_ that song.”  
  
“Hey, you like that one?” Freddie looked pleased. “Well ain't that somethin'. What are we thinking about production wise?” He turned to the band.  
  
“I've got a vision for this,” Chubby said, “and I'm sure we can get there.”  
  
“It's my understanding that we have session players for this?”  
  
Freddie spoke up, “Yeah, I'm here to play some percussion; the rest of the guys are coming in either tonight or tomorrow, depending upon how much we get done today.”  
  
“You were spot on earlier. Love all that angel stuff, big fan. What if we get some real _celestial_ sounds on here.” Crowley gestured above his head.  
  
“Hmm. I can hear it. Show me what you're thinking,” Freddie said.  
  
Crowley cleared his throat and tried to hum a few bars. He was surprisingly able to hit a few notes, but not consistently enough to convey the idea. “Let's try this in here,” he said, motioning for Freddie to come into the live room. It wasn't his first time in a room where music was recorded, but it was the first time he was going to try to use a musical instrument in order to convey an idea. 'Heaven help me,' he thought.  
  
“What's this thingy called?” Crowley said, gesturing to the instrument composed of metal bars laid across a frame.  
  
“That's a glockenspiel.” Freddie pulled the plastic sticks from his pocket. They had soft rubber balls on the end and Freddie hit one of the bars with them before handing them to Crowley. “Do you play mallet instruments too?”  
  
“Barely,” Crowley lied, calling upon some magical assistance to help him play the notes he was hearing in his head. “Can someone hit the playback?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Freddie headed back into the control room and the music began to play.  
  
Crowley held the mallets in his hands over the glockenspiel and tried to ignore the fact that they were trembling. He closed his eyes and tentatively pecked out a high tinkling melody over the slow piano intro. Freddie immediately came back into the room. Crowley stopped playing and offered the mallets back to him.  
  
“It was just an idea-”  
  
“Show me what you were playing,” Freddie said. Crowley waited for the music to return to the chord change and hesitatantly played the same line, fumbling a few notes here and there.  
  
“Stop the playback,” Freddie called into the control room. He went and sat down behind the piano. “AJ, let me try something. Just follow along with me.” Freddie counted off and played a powerful, upbeat riff, stomping his foot loudly to the beat. He nodded to Crowley when it was time for him to come in, and Crowley did his best to play along to the much faster tempo. Freddie was singing along, and eventually the brothers came into the live room and circled around the piano. Chubby sang the lead, following Freddie's tempo change; he directed his brothers when to come in with their harmonies. All through it, Crowley kept plunking out the same high melody. Eventually, Freddie ran his hands down the piano in a grand glissando and stopped everyone.  
  
“Okay, so here's what's gonna happen,” Freddie stood up and began gesturing to the band, “I wrote this as a ballad, but it needs to be faster. Full on dance floor.”  
  
“I like it at this tempo,” Chubby said, and his brothers nodded along with him.  
  
“AJ, that had to be divine inspiration. I'm gonna be on the mallets for this song; that melody is really gonna set the tone.”  
  
Crowley was so stunned at the praise, he could only nod.  
  
“I'm calling the session players now, I think we can get this done by tonight if we hustle.” Freddie ran out of the room, and the Tavares brothers erupted in cheers.  
  
“I feel like it's gonna be a hit,” Chubby said.

* * *

 

Three hours later, the session players were at their places in the live room, and all five of the Tavares brothers were standing at the ready in front of microphones. Chubby was singing lead on this track, so he was in one iso booth; Pooch, Butch, Tiny, and Ralph were in another booth with two mics. They had recorded about a minute of the song in order to check the levels, and Freddie and Crowley were making some last minute adjustments in the live room before attempting to track a take.  
  
“What do you think, AJ?”  
  
“I was gonna ask you that.”  
  
Freddie looked at him. “I think it's about as good as it's gonna get.”  
  
“Well, it sounds great. Get in there, I'll hold it down here.” Crowley fist bumped Freddie and watched him walk into the live room. Once he had his headphones on and was ready with his mallets in front of the glockenspiel, Crowley punched the talkback. “Everyone set to make some magic?” The musicians and the Tavares brothers responded with smiles and thumbs up.  
  
“Okay,” Crowley said as he punched the record button. “We're rolling.”  
  
The drummer counted off and the room came to life. The faster tempo suited the song so well, and Crowley watched Freddie as he directed the musicians and singers while playing a perfected version of the melody that had come to him as he'd heard the demo for the first time. Crowley had a feeling this was going to be the take. He made sure all the levels were still good and leaned back a bit to enjoy the experience.  
  
_There's a rainbow over my shoulder_  
_When you came, my cup runneth over_  
_You gave me your heavenly love_  
_And if one night, you hear crying from above_  
_It's cause heaven must be missing an angel_  
  
A memory floated across the music to Crowley; he was standing at the edge of a cloudbank, looking down over the vast expanse of his currently assigned dominion. His hair was long and wavy; it was suspended around him in a fashion similar to the recently formed nebulas floating as far as one could see. He was occupying a somewhat familiar form, but he was dressed in white and his wings were relaxed behind him. Crowley looked down at his hands, which were covered in glowing points of light in no discernable pattern; he realized they were constellations as he followed the lines of them up his forearms.  
  
“Well, aren't you pretty,” a familiar voice said. Crowley turned around to see a fellow angel staring at him with hundreds of gleaming eyes suspended over their body and wings. Their presence was startling, but he felt no fear. “I'm Aziraphale. What's your name?”  
  
Crowley couldn't answer; his mouth wasn't able to make the sounds. Then he heard Aziraphale calling out his name – his original name – from above as he tumbled and fell, down, and down, and down. The calls turned into cries after a certain point, and the pitch changed from melodic to mournful. Crowley gasped and opened his eyes. He placed his hands on the console and looked around at any grounding detail: the carpet, the volunme sliders, Chubby's face in front of the microphone, Freddie's hands over the glockenspiel. This was the present; he'd already Fallen, and it was impossible for it to happen again. He rubbed a hand over his ribs and glanced at the tape. Nearly six minutes in; not bad.  
  
_It's just so good, so good, so good_  
_Heaven – heaven_  
  
Freddie brought all the musicians to a stop and held his hands out until the last of the reverberations had died down. Then he pumped his fist and let out a “woo!”  
Crowley punched the talkback. “Wow, lads. I know nothing in this business is a sure thing, but that was a _damn_ good take.”  
  
“You think that was it?” Chubby asked. Crowley gave him a thumbs-up. “You can all leave your gear here if you'd like,” Chubby said to the session musicians. “We'll be back here tomorrow at noon.”  
  
“Sounds good,” said the drummer, who twirled his sticks and set them down on the snare.  
  
Crowley stood up and clapped as the Tavares brothers and Freddie made their way into the control room. “Whew,” Chubby said. “I think I'm done for the night.”  
  
“I second that,” Tiny added.  
  
Freddie sat down in the chair next to Crowley. “We can listen to it tomorrow with fresh ears. Do y'all wanna get outta here and rest? Me and AJ can lock up.”  
  
Ralph let out a yawn. “Yeah, I'm beat,” he said.  
  
“Go on then,” Freddie waved towards the door, “we'll get this shut down. See you tomorrow.” He waited until they were alone to address AJ. “Hey, I think you did a real great job today. I see why people mention your name.”  
  
“You're really too kind,” Crowley dropped his head. “I didn't do anything. Just happened to be here.”  
  
“Hey, you hold your head up high, all right? It takes all of us to make something really special,” Freddie said, with such firm conviction that Crowley had to take it to heart. He fidgeted with his hands a bit and looked over at Crowley expectantly. “Do you, um, do you wanna hear one we did before you got here?”  
  
“Absolutely.” Freddie stood and changed out the tape. The song started with joyful, rich, staccato piano chords and claps. Crowley tapped his fingers on the edge of the console to the easy groove. “Did you write this one?” Crowley asked.  
  
“Yeah, me and Keni wrote this one, too. To be honest with you, I like this one better, but I'm not sure it's disco enough for what's happening right now, know what I mean?”

Crowley nodded. “Makes sense. Seems like it's changing every day.”  
  
Freddie huffed. “Mark my words, AJ, in a few years everyone's mama, and all their mama's cousins, sisters, and friends are gonna be doing a disco record. Your mama's _dog_ is gonna have a twelve-inch. You won't be able to take a shit without hearing a disco remix.”  
  
Crowley choked on a laugh. “Fuck.” They fell silent for a few verses. “This is a great song, by the way. I'm a big fan.”  
  
_Bein' with you – wee-ooh!_  
  
“Aw, thanks man. It's sad though,” Freddie said as he looked up at a few of the gold records on the wall, “because I really like where it's all at right now. It still has a lot of soul in it, you know? Just hope that doesn't ever go away.”  
  
“Yeah,” Crowley said. “I hope so too. ” He looked up at the clock. It was well past ten. There was a rap on the exterior door.  
  
“Ahh, I bet someone forgot something,” Freddie said. He opened the door and let out a joyous “Hey!”  
  
“Good to see you, Freddie.” Crowley stood to see Bob walking into the control room.  
  
“Hey you,” Bob gave Crowley a hug. “How'd it go today?”  
  
“Think it went pretty well, yeah,” Crowley said.  
  
“It went great,” Freddie said. “Didn't know this guy played mallets.”  
  
Bob raised his eyebrows and looked at Crowley. “Oh really? Care to tell me about it over a late dinner, perhaps?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Crowley said. “Let me just finish up here.”  
  
“Aw, you're good, AJ, I got this,” Freddie said. “Y'all go out and have a good time.” He gave Bob a hug and patted Crowley on the shoulder as they walked out of the control room. Crowley stared at his feet as he headed towards the door. Another credit to his name, on yet _another_ song about an angel. How much longer was he going to be able to keep this from Aziraphale? Surely at some point he'd put it all together. How much more could he keep from himself?  
  
“AJ? Did you hear me?” It was only after Bob put his hand on Crowley's shoulder that he realized they were already outside.  
  
“Uhh, no, I think I'm just tired. Long day.” Crowley scratched his hairline just above his tattoo.  
  
A slight expression of hurt flashed across Bob's face. “Look, you don't have to talk about what's really going on if you don't want to, but I'm happy to listen.”  
  
Crowley let out a long sigh. “You know, that's probably a good idea. But I'll need some alcohol first.”  
  
Bob laughed. “No problem. Come on, then.”

* * *

 

Bob drove them across town in silence; Crowley suspected they'd be talking quite a bit once they got to their destination. They ended up at a piano bar that was so dark even Crowley had trouble trouble seeing inside; he tripped over a table and a chair before they finally made it to the bar. The place was empty save for the staff, the pianist, and a table full of older gay men singing show tunes at the top of their lungs. Bob greeted the manager with a smile and a hug, and asked if there was anything he could whip up for Crowley to eat. He emerged from the back after a few moments with a Caesar salad, which Crowley accepted graciously. He'd never tried one before. Why not?

“I never see you eat,” Bob said. “You need to at least have a little something after working all day.”

Crowley pecked at the salad; the first bite wasn't half bad. Maybe Aziraphale had the right idea all along.

“Look, I’m sorry I got a bit snappy earlier. I just feel like you’re –” Bob held his hands out as he searched for the words, “- carrying a lot around with you. And it doesn’t bother me, but I get the sense that it bothers... you?”

Crowley set down his fork. “You’re not wrong,” he said quietly.

Bob narrowed his eyes. “Can I make a few guesses as to what’s going on with you and your partner?”

“Uhhh,” Crowley’s jaw dropped and a piece of lettuce fell in his lap. “Sure?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.”

“Well, now I’m curious.”

Bob took a sip of his bourbon. “You’ve been involved with your partner for a long time, but there are significant obstacles for your relationship. Something - something big - is holding you back from being together in the way you truly want.”

Crowley swished around his remaining whisky and downed it all in a single swig.

“I get the sense you don’t live together-”

“Ha. Nope, definitely not,” Crowley said.

“But you live close to one another, and you see each other regularly unless something’s wrong. And it seems there’s lots of ups and downs for you.” Bob glanced over at Crowley. “Am I anywhere close?”

“A bit too close,” Crowley said.

“Care to elaborate?” Bob looked at him, and his eyes cut through Crowley like a gust of cold wind through a thin coat.

“How do you _do_ that?”

“Do what?”

Crowley pushed his empty glass of whiskey towards the bartender and nodded. “You say all this stuff, it's like, you _know_ me,” he muttered. “No one does that. Well. My friends do that.” He thought of Donna forcing him to repeat affirmations at himself in the mirror.

“I know things. I'm a Scorpio.” Bob winked at him.

“You're a what?”

“I'm kidding. I mean, I _am_ a Scorpio, but. Eh, it was a joke. A bad joke. Forget it.” Crowley took another bite of salad; this time he caught a salty, garlicky, perfectly crunchy crouton and well, that was pretty good. Bob cleared his throat. “I can drop it if you don't want to talk.”

“It's not really that, Bob,” Crowley felt guilty. Here was a person doing his best to understand and listen to him, and he wasn't even trying to meet him halfway. “I said the same thing to Donna when she was in town. It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I could talk about it for days and hours and still not really reach the point. We have a lot of history together. A lot.” The bartender pushed Crowley another glass of whisky; the pour was a lot higher this time around.

Bob was unfazed by Crowley's frustration. “Did something happen before Donna got to town?”

Something snapped inside Crowley. “Yeah, something happened. I got completely stood up.” He tossed his napkin onto the plate. “It's stupid.”

“It's not stupid if you're upset about it,” Bob responded snappily; Crowley knew the zing of it wasn't directed at him.

“Can't remember if I told you I got asked to DJ a party for Freddie Mercury,” Crowley muttered as he sucked down a sip of whisky. The bartender had given him some good, top shelf shit he hadn't ordered, and Crowley plunked a $20 bill down at the edge of the bar.

“Wait – Freddie Mercury as in _the_ Freddie Mercury?”

“Yeah, Freddie _fucking_ Mercury. Of Queen. Somehow he heard one of my nights at the station.”

“I didn't know you were DJing,” Bob said.

Crowley waved it off. “It's – it's nothing really, it's on pirate radio. I don't even know how the hell he heard it. Anyways, he asked me to DJ his private Christmas Eve party. At his flat.”

Bob's eyebrows shot up. “Wow! Look at you.”

“So yeah, I asked him to go with me -”

“You asked your partner to go with you to the party?”

Now it was Crowley's turn to snap. “He's _not_ my partner. He doesn't even –”

“I'm sorry, AJ, I made an assumption and I shouldn't have-” Bob stammered.

“No. I'm sorry, cause I was a real cock just now. I'm not used to this. I haven't got a lot of friends.” Crowley rubbed his temple before continuing. “So yeah. Anyways. I guess I should add, a few years back we had a big fight, and um, he said... some things. I had to step back from it all for a while.”

Crowley looked over at Bob, who was leaning forward and listening intently.

“I asked him to come with me to this party, it seemed pretty low key. I had friends in town who wanted to meet him.” Crowley's head was spinning a bit from the good whisky. Fuck it. He drained the glass and pushed it forward for another refill. “Just wanted to do something fun, you know? I went to pick him up for dinner and he wasn't there. And I waited for hours. Finally I...” (hmm, can't exactly describe magical powers; should he just say he broke in?) “I used the spare key to go in and he had left me a note – a fuckin' _note_ – saying he wasn't going to be able to make it. Barely made it to the gig on time.”

“He made you wait outside for hours? And he didn't call or anything?” Crowley nodded. “Yeah, that's... that's fucked up.” Crowley looked up at Bob and saw a pulsing vein on the side of his neck. He wasn't sure he'd seen him this heated before.

“You seem angry,” he said.

“I _am_ angry! That's no way to treat someone you love.”

Crowley ran his hand over his jaw. “I guess you're right. I mean, it could have been something really awful but, now, _I'm_ the one who hasn't called him back so I don't know.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Bob said firmly. “I can’t treat my partner - _any_ of my partners - that way. Communication is everything, it's mandatory. You must have been worried sick.”

Crowley stared off into space for a minute. “I was, yeah, I was really worried.” A realization dawned on him and he blurted it out, “That's actually what upset me the most. That I didn't know if he was okay or not.”

“I'm really sorry that happened to you,” Bob said. His arm brushed up against Crowley's, but he didn't make a move to touch him.

“Mmm,” Crowley was well and truly drunk, but went ahead and finished the last of his whisky.

“You said you've known each other your whole lives?”

“Yep,” Crowley popped the 'P.' “A long, long fucking time.”

“Someone told me this the other day, I don't know if it's actually true or not, but,” Bob swiveled his barstool to face Crowley and put a hand on his shoulder, “he said that once you've known someone for seven years or more, statistically, you're likely to remain in their life until one of you is dead.”

“Yeah, well,” the room was spinning around Crowley, “I'd say that pretty much sums it up. It feels like we're... stuck with each other.”

“So, okay,” Bob sounded excited, “That's not entirely a bad thing – it means you've got some time to work it out. Think about what you want to say, and talk to him once you get home.”

“All right,” Crowley rested his head on Bob's shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

“AJ, hey.” Bob pulled Crowley upright to look him in the eye. “The way people treat you, it matters. Okay?”

“Whatever,” Crowley muttered.

“It matters. You matter,” Bob said firmly. “How are you feeling?” Crowley shrugged.

“Well, we're down the block from Studio One. Do you wanna go dancing for a bit?”

Crowley ran his hands down his torso and straightened out his shirt. “Shit, yeah, I do.”

Bob offered Crowley his arm and they headed out of the bar.

* * *

 

Studio One  
West Hollywood, California

An upbeat soulful song was blasting when they made their way into the door of Studio One. Crowley had never been inside a real disco; it was all still pretty new at this point. Bob took Crowley's hand and led him down the hallway. The space opened up was enormous, but still packed wall to wall. The dance floor was covered in men of all races, all sizes, in all fashions (although there were quite a lot of very short shorts), and many men had their shirts off. There was a giant mirror ball suspended from the ceiling, reflecting tiny dots of light all over the walls, all over everyone's bodies. Crowley didn't recognize the song, but he liked it.

 _All I need is a man like you,_  
_To love me and squeeze me, know what to do_  
_Girl, I'm a free man / Are you free, mister?_  
_Girl, I'm a free man and talkin' bout it_

Bob knew lots of the guys at Studio One, based on the amount of men stopping to talk to him as they headed towards the dance floor. Bob introduced Crowley to everyone, and Crowley shook a lot of hands and did his best to remember names. Once on the floor, Bob danced with careless abandon, shimmying his shoulders and hips in perfect time, his glistening smile clearly visible in the dark. He threw his head back and sang loud enough for Crowley to hear him over the music.

 _Freedom is the key to loving me_  
_Freedom is the key to loving me_  
_Freedom is the key to loving me_

The song eventually faded down to a middle break punctuated by vocal harmonies and atmospheric rhythm guitar. “Who is this?” Crowley asked.

“South Shore Commission, Free Man! I can't believe you don't know this one!”

“No,” Crowley shook his head, “it's good though.”

“I'll make sure you go home with a copy.” Bob pulled Crowley closer to him, and put his arms around his waist. “Is this all right?” Crowley nodded and remembered the first time they'd danced together in New York; how considerate Bob was every step of the way, always asking for permission, checking in with Crowley before touching him. He felt flutters in his chest as Bob leaned in to speak directly into Crowley's ear. “Are you feeling any better?” Crowley nodded. “Do you want another drink or anything?”

“No, I'm good.” He needed to sober up. “Hey, thank you for... for everything.”

Bob nuzzled into Crowley's neck, still swaying to the music. “Don't mention it.” Before Crowley could respond or think too hard about his increased heartbeat, the song picked up for the ending, the main riff returning with a vengeance. Bob took Crowley's hand and playfully spun him around into a formal dance position with his hand resting gently on Crowley's hip and Crowley's arm draped loosely over his shoulders. Suddenly, there was a loud screeching noise and the music stopped. The crowd began booing and chanting.

“Give me a fucking minute!” the DJ yelled out. Someone threw a shoe at the side of the DJ booth, which led to the DJ slinging his drink out over the crowd. Less than five seconds later, the music was back; bongos and a silky hi-hat kicked off the next track, followed closely by vocal harmonies and a gritty guitar riff. Several cheers erupted from the men around them, and lots of hands were thrown up in the air. It appeared that the song choice had swayed the crowd to forgive the DJ for stopping the music and tossing a cocktail glass onto the dance floor.

As always, Bob seemed to know the song inside and out, and he began mouthing the lyrics as soon as they started. Crowley couldn't take his eyes off Bob's lips. He wondered if he'd missed his chance to kiss him.

 _I get the feeling, girl, you need someone_  
_who'd love and appreciate you, like I do_

Bob pulled Crowley closer and wrapped his arm tighter around his waist. “You're so cute, you know. I feel so lucky.” Crowley's knees buckled a touch underneath him. Bob held him upright. “You all right there?”

“Sorry,” Crowley said, “I told you I wasn't much of a dancer-”

“Lies,” Bob dramatically rolled his eyes. “All lies. Everyone's looking at you. You're amazing.”

 _I've been watching you_  
_Loving and holding you,_  
_for quite some time, baby_

Crowley felt himself flushing as he glanced around and indeed noticed the many pairs of eyes directed their way. He tried to come up with a witty, self-deprecating response but could only revel in how good it felt to have someone's attention turned on him like this.

“Yeah, I said it,” Bob's entire torso was now pressed against his, “I think you're amazing.”

 _Let me live in your life for a while_  
_(For a while) you can put me on top_  
_Let me erase, let me replace_  
_All the hurt that's engraved on your face - (baby, baby, baby!)_

“I'm – I think you're quite great yourself,” Crowley couldn't bring himself to disagree too vigorously as he was very distracted by the warmth of Bob's body against his and the closeness of his face, his lips...

“AJ,” Bob said, somehow (always) looking directly into Crowley’s eyes despite not being able to see them, “I know you love someone else. I know it’s complicated. But I also know that – _god_ \- I like you, and we could just enjoy this moment, together, the one that’s here.”

_Take a chance, on a new romance!_

Crowley allowed Bob to cup his face with his hand, and he finally felt the warring factions within his body come to a truce.

“Only if you want,” Bob said, and that was when Crowley decided to try enjoying the moment; he put his hands on the side of Bob's face, pulled him forward into a kiss, and felt Bob's muffled expression of surprise resonate through his lips and fingers.

* * *

 

The drive back to the hotel was mercifully short; Bob gazed at Crowley every chance he got, and they made out at a stoplight on Sunset until a taxi driver honked from behind them. In between switching from second to third gear, Bob grabbed a handful of Crowley's thigh and squeezed. “Your body, the legs on you, AJ, you're such a stunner,” he moaned. Crowley preened at the praise, but felt the familiar panic and fear creeping back in. He remembered the times over the millennia he'd made an Effort for temptations and various vices; it wouldn't take long and he had a general idea of what shape and size he'd choose. He could do this; it seemed Bob liked to take the lead, and he could just make the effort and go along with whatever happened. It didn't really matter that much, anyways; people did this all the time. Bob pulled up to the hotel's valet and came around to open Crowley's door. He tripped a bit on his way out of the car.

'Here we go,' Crowley thought as Bob took him by the arm. His stomach lurched as he realized he had no idea what was about to happen. Should he bring up that he had never done this before? What if he wasn't good at it?

Bob stopped just short of the hotel's Grecian-style entryway and looked Crowley up and down. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, and stroked the hairs on the back of his neck as he kissed him for what felt like hours. He pulled away softly and caressed Crowley's cheek. “All right, you. Let me know when you're free tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Didn't they already have plans for tonight?

“Yeah, I want to see you tomorrow. And the next day, if you'll have me. You're really something, AJ,” Bob said as he kissed Crowley's hand, which was now trembling due to nerves and confusion.

“Then why aren't you coming up with me?” Crowley asked. “Do you not want to-?” He was cut off by Bob pinning him up against a column and kissing him passionately.

“Do I not _want_ to? Do I seem like someone who doesn't want to?” His voice was husky with desire, he sounded _hungry_ , even, and Crowley shivered a bit. “Look at you, you're absolutely gorgeous.” Bob said before sucking a mark into the base of Crowley's neck while running his fingers through Crowley's hair. “Ahh, but that doesn't answer your first question,” he said, panting. Bob pulled away and took a deep breath.

“It's been an emotional night for you, AJ,” Bob said tenderly, pressing his forehead against Crowley's. “I want you – _god_ – I want to touch you and know you, but I also need you to be in a good space when we...”

“I am in a good space!” Crowley protested feebly. It wasn't true, and they both knew it.

Bob pressed a kiss to Crowley's cheekbone. “Shh. You're still drunk.” Crowley was suddenly embarrassed and he let his head fall forward onto Bob's chest.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said sheepishly. Great. Now he'd gone and fucked this up, too.

“Hey, hey. It's okay, beautiful boy,” Bob said as he gently worked a few tangles out of Crowley's ends. The endearment sent a shiver down Crowley's spine. “I'm here all week. Make them let you go before eight tomorrow. Let me take you out. On a _real_ date.”

Crowley, who had never been on a 'real date' that had been labeled as such, perked right up. “Okay, then. A real date. Tomorrow.” His mouth turned up into a small smile at the thought of a new experience and possibly... a new outfit? What he wouldn't give to have Donna here. He was going to have to call her first thing in the morning.

“There you are,” Bob grinned and gave Crowley a long and tender kiss. “Get on in there. And drink some water, please. Don't want you to be hungover tomorrow.” Crowley strutted into the hotel lobby and took one last look at Bob over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator. He flipped his hair over his shoulder as the elevator doors closed.

 _“Ooh, hoo, hoo, he says I'm beautiful,”_ Crowley made up a little nonsense ditty and cooed softly into the ends of his hair. He sniffed it and was still able to pick out the fragrance of his fancy chamomile and mint shampoo after a whole day and night out, _“and I smell good too-ooh.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interview with Chubby Tavares: https://www.miaminewtimes.com/music/tavares-talks-disco-and-heaven-must-be-missing-an-angel-6441370
> 
> Freddie Perren has become one of my favorite people I've learned about in my research: https://www.telegram.com/opinion/20170226/as-i-see-it-forgotten-motown-songwriter
> 
> This is a really nice photo of Bob Crewe, who was actually a Scorpio: http://www.mikesmithenterprisesblog.com/2014/09/bob-crewe-rest-in-peace.html
> 
> some history of gay bars in West Hollywood: https://www.kcet.org/shows/lost-la/is-la-losing-its-outrageous-past-the-birth-of-gay-urbanism-in-1970s-west-hollywood


	19. I'll Never Leave You In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets to know Freddie a bit better while they wrap up the Tavares session. Crowley and Bob finally get their date night, and Bob has a surprise in store for Crowley...
> 
> Please heed new tags!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Thank you so much to everyone leaving such incredible and wonderful comments. I am sorry this took a bit longer than I wanted. I got really, really sick about ten days ago ago and have barely been able to get out of bed. Anyhow, I'm *finally* feeling better so hopefully the next chapter will come quickly! Playlist has been updated and I look forward to hearing what everyone thinks of the songs.

Saturday, January 10, 1976  
Hollywood, California

Crowley woke up at an ungodly hour and checked to see what time it was in Munich. With some help from the front desk, he dialed out and got through to Donna.

“Wow, am I happy to get you on the line,” Crowley said.

“Hey, you, it's good to hear your voice! Where you at?”

“I'm in LA.”

“Well that's good, I'm supposed to head over there next month, maybe. But I should be in London before I go back. What are you getting into?”

“I uh, I kissed someone last night,” Crowley blurted breathlessly. The resulting shriek from Donna nearly made him drop the phone.

“Tell me everything!!”

“I mean, that’s everything, really,” Crowley twirled the cord of the phone around his fingers. “We went out dancing last night and then we, yeah, we kissed a bit.”

“Uh, _excuse_ me? 'That's everything'? That's not everything! What's his name? How did you meet? What's he like?”

All the questions made Crowley's head spin. He told Donna how he and Bob first met in New York, the evening on the beach, Bob's views on relationships, and about last night as she dished out a few “oooooh!”s and “oh really?”s.

“So...” Crowley trailed off. “What do I do?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, I like him, I'm just not sure-”

“Look, sweetie,” Donna said, always the voice of experience, “I wish all men were that honest. It seems like he's a nice guy, not looking for something serious, he thinks you're 'beautiful'-”

“I know, but I still haven't talked it out with-” Crowley did not get a chance to finish his thought.

“AJ. Just – just enjoy yourself! That's what he's giving you a chance to do. He's not gonna follow you home to London like a... like a lost puppy. He told you likes you, he told you his current situation, it sounds like he just wants to show you a good time.”

Crowley was silent for a moment. “But what does that mean?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean,” Donna said. “Just... go with the flow.”

“Mrrrt, all right, well. I guess I can give that a try.”

“Just make sure you got some mints or gum on you so your breath doesn't stink,” Donna finished her sentence by breaking down into hysterical laughter.

“You're ridiculous, utterly ridiculous,” Crowley muttered fondly. 

* * *

 

Total Experience Recording Studios  
Hollywood, California

Crowley made his way to the recording studio and walked in the control room to see Freddie standing at the board. He was wearing a long black and orange checkered sweater coat with tan cordouroy bell bottoms, and Crowley made a note to ask him later where he liked to shop. “Morning to you,” Crowley said.

“Good morning AJ, there's coffee in the kitchen if you want any,” Freddie said, holding up a mug in a sort of morning toast and gesturing down the hallway. Crowley nodded and went to get himself sorted out; he always had a hard time turning down coffee. He walked back into the control room with a steaming hot mug of black coffee before realizing the Tavares brothers weren't in the building.

“Uh, where are the guys?” Crowley asked.

“We only have the session players for the rest of today unless we want to pay overtime,” Freddie said, “I want to finish up the last four tracks and then get the brothers back in around 3pm. Studio's open through Wednesday, but I don't anticipate we'll need all that time.”

“All right. Sounds good to me. What can I do?”

Freddie ran his fingers over his goatee. “I think we're just about ready. You wanna get in there and make sure all the cables are connected, see if anything looks out of place?”

“I'm on it.” Crowley went into the live room. The back door was open and the session musicians were having a smoke break. He made a quick trip around the room; all connections seemed to be good and most things were in the same spots as they were when he'd left last night.

“Seems to be all good,” Crowley said as he plopped down into the chair next to Freddie's.

“All right, y'all.” Freddie yelled into the live room. “Let's get to work. We’re on a budget here.” There were a few good-natured grumbles from the session players, but it was clear everyone respected Freddie. Crowley was more impressed with him by the day; he really ran the session well and wasn't afraid to make anyone redo a part until it was to his standards. Once everyone was settled in, Freddie began calling out the songs, and the players began knocking out the takes one by one.

The session ran smoothly through the rest of the morning; Freddie kept the session musicians rolling on track, and Crowley stepped in to run the board once he went in to play his mallet and percussion parts. Chubby arrived at 2:30pm, and he sat and chatted with Crowley in the control room while the last of the instrumental tracks were being recorded. The rest of the Tavares brothers were in the studio and they started the vocal overdubs around 3:30pm. Everything was going according to plan until about 6pm, when a loud pop came from the tape machine, followed by the sharp, metallic smell of fried electronic components. The Tavares brothers were right in the midst of a gorgeous take on Ridin’ High when everything shut down.

“What happened?” Chubby asked from the iso booth.

The tape machine had thrown a fuse, so no one could hear Freddie on the talk back. The brothers filed into the control room one by one. Crowley pulled the tape off the machine while Freddie tried to get a look at the back of it. After an hour of unsuccessful troubleshooting, Freddie sent the Tavares brothers out for a dinner break while he and Crowley tried to get a handle on what exactly had happened.

Freddie was on his hands and knees with a flashlight checking out the machine when he let out a loud groan. “Shit. This tape machine situation is absolutely FUBAR.”

“It’s what?” Crowley was leaning against the wall. He didn’t realize it, but he was offering a specific kind of useless moral support that was very important for humans in situations like this.

“Ahh, it’s an American thing, yeah. Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.”

“Oh. Oh that’s good,” Crowley said. “The phrase, that is. Not the machine. What's wrong with it?”

“No idea. I was hoping I could fix it but I’m gonna have to get some help.” Freddie looked at a clipboard on the wall. “Darryl’s on call today, let me try and get a hold of him.”

Crowley took a look at the back of the machine; it seemed lucky the thing hadn’t caught fire. Maybe he could fix it. Crowley was still trying to figure it out when Freddie came back to the control room.

“So what do we do now?”

Freddie grimaced. “Well, somebody’s gonna have to stay here until Darryl gets here. Who the fuck knows when that’ll be.” Crowley looked up at the clock. It was already 7:30pm. Didn’t seem likely he’d be done by 8pm unless he ditched Freddie, and Crowley didn’t want to do that.

“I don’t want to make you stay here again by yourself,” Crowley said. “Just let me make a quick call.”

“Ahh shit. You probably had a date tonight, didn’t you?” Freddie made a face and Crowley couldn’t tell for a minute what emotion he was trying to convey. Freddie immediately picked up on Crowley’s hesitation and waved his hand. “Man, I don’t give a shit who you’re fucking-”

“Well, that’s not exactly what's-” Crowley stammered. Freddie didn't seem to care and just kept on talking.

“Look, Bob’s a great guy.” Freddie stared at the floor. “I’m sorry this ruined your plans.”

“It’s all right.” Crowley said. “I’m not the only one with a life.”

“Yeah, I better call my wife. Maybe I can say goodnight to the kids before they go to sleep.”

Crowley smiled at Freddie. “Why don’t you call first, then?”

There was a phone in the kitchen; it didn’t take long before Crowley heard Freddie making what sounded like a bit of baby talk. Then the phone rang, and Freddie called out for him.

“AJ, you got a phone call.”

Crowley walked to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey you,” Bob’s voice greeted him on the other end of the line and Crowley smiled.

“I was just about to call you.”

“Is that so? Listen, AJ, I’m so sorry, but things are going haywire over here. I got called in to a session and it’s a fucking _disaster_. I have no idea when this is going to be done.” He sounded truly apologetic.

Crowley laughed under his breath. “Funny thing. I’m dealing with a similar situation.”

“Oh no, what’s happening over there? Hopefully no one threw a tambourine at _your_ head.”

“Someone _what_?”

Bob brought his voice down to just above a whisper. “I – I’ll have to tell you about it later.”

“Tape machine went out, blew a fuse. Waiting for someone to come by and fix it. Freddie had no problem letting me leave, but I didn’t want him to be here by himself,” Crowley said.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?” Bob said fondly. “And I’m so sorry I had to cancel.”

“It’s all right,” Crowley said honestly. He was a bit disappointed, but he didn’t feel rejected or scared. Bob had taken the time to track him down and let him know that plans had changed. The act of consideration made Crowley feel a bit tingly in his limbs. “Do you want to ring me at the hotel when you’re done?”

“That sounds good. I already changed the dinner reservation to tomorrow night, but I’ll let you know once I’m done here. If it's not too late I could, um, bring by some wine by the hotel or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, that would be nice.”

“Okay. I gotta go. Don’t work too hard, beautiful.”

“Same to you.” Crowley hung up the phone and walked back to the control room where Freddie was looking through the tapes from the day’s session.

“I really hope that last take didn’t get ruined,” he said, holding a reel up and examining it. “Sorry your plans got canceled.”

“Right well, actually Bob’s having a time of it too. Apparently someone tossed a tambourine at his head during a session today.”

“Oh, shit! Glad it didn’t get that crazy over here.”

Crowley hummed in agreement. “Indeed.”

Freddie held up a joint in his hand and looked at Crowley sheepishly. “Do you wanna, uh, smoke and listen to some music while we wait for Darryl to show up?”

Crowley nodded. “I could go for that.”

“That's right, my man. I guarantee you’ve never had anything as good as we got in California.”

* * *

  
Freddie threw on a great record by The Main Ingredient and Crowley propped open the back door in the live room, despite Freddie’s assurances that everyone smoked in here during every session and therefore, there was no need to even _try_ to air it out. Crowley was happy to ask Freddie questions about music, and he spent most of the evening listening with rapt attention to his many wild stories about various sessions and artists. Somehow, the conversation turned to Bob, and Freddie recounted how they'd met a long time ago in New York.

“He is a great guy, how long you been seeing each other?” Freddie asked.

“Uhh.” Crowley wasn't sure how to answer the question.

“Hey, I really don’t give a shit, everybody’s got their own thing,” Freddie said, passing the last of the joint to Crowley. “I wrote a whole fucking song about it.” He laughed under his breath as he pulled out rolling papers. “You want more?” Freddie asked.

Crowley nodded. “You wrote a song about what, exactly?”

“Ahh, I wrote this whole song about, you know, the gay life in LA and stuff.”

“Put it on,” Crowley gestured to the console.

Freddie dug a record out of his bag and put it on the turntable. A funky groove kicked off the track with sparse percussion. “This came out in September, it's a concept album.” Crowley couldn't stop himself from tapping his fingers in time.

 _Ain't nobody straight in L.A_  
_It seems that everybody is gay_

Freddie lit up the next joint. “I still can't believe they let me put this on here,” he said, laughing.

 _Homosexuality is a part of society_  
_I guess that they need some more variety_

Crowley stared incredulously at Freddie. He was bopping his head along. “They probably let you do it because it's got the beat.”

_Freedom of expression is really the thing_

“Yeah, I guess so.” Freddie passed the joint to Crowley. “Everyone needs to learn to mind their damn business.” They passed the joint back and forth for a few songs, and then Freddie turned up the volume. “This one is starting to climb the charts,” he said. “I think this is gonna do real well for them.”

 _I think it's high time you knew_  
_Whenever I think of you_  
_My mind blows a fuse_

“Ooh!” Crowley was tingly and feeling warm all over; Freddie was right about that good California stuff. It wasn't too much though, just enough to loosen him up. “I love song lyrics, Freddie,” he said as he clutched his hand over his heart. “It's the best part of a song.”

“I feel you, man,” Freddie fist bumped him. “The way I see it, if you ain't gonna say anything important in the lyrics, why the fuck should you even bother singing?”

Crowley pointed at Freddie. “Yes. Yes. That's exactly what I've been trying to say. But... I'm high.”

Freddie doubled over in laughter. “Damn, I was so worried you were gonna be a real asshole.”

“Me?” Crowley pretended to clutch his pearls, which only made Freddie laugh harder. “Nah, I'm honestly just happy to be here. This whole thing, I fell into it completely by accident.”

“Yeah, I never heard the story of how you ended up on that Temptations session.”

 _I – I – I'm just a love machine_  
_and I won't work for nobody but you_  
_I'm just a love machine,_  
_a huggin' kissin' fiend_

“Well, it's funny – wait, did you write this one, too?”

Freddie shook his head. “Nah, but I produced it. And it was a good thing they let me do that too, cause the way it was before...” He raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“I was in Detroit for an unrelated job and, you know, I was a real big fan of all the Motown music at that point so I decided to head down to the studio. Just to see it, right.”

“Right,” Freddie said.

“Cause I came all the way from fuckin' England, I'm not gonna _not_ see it. Anyways, somebody thought I was a record producer and waved me right in, and before I know it, I'm in the studio staring at the fuckin' Temptations.”

“You're _shitting_ me.” Freddie's mouth was wide open.

“No, I'm not, and actually I've never told anyone this before.” Freddie just kept staring at Crowley. “So, you know. Maybe keep this between us because, I would very much like to be able to keep working in the industry.”

“Won't tell a soul,” Freddie said, miming a 'lips zipped' gesture. “For my money, a lot of the best producers are people who just really love music.”

“I think part of it was the accent, and-”

“Were you dressed like you are now?” Freddie asked, gesturing to Crowley's jacket. “You look sharp, man.”

“Yeah, this is how I dress. But yeah, they waved me on in. All I did, literally all I did,” Crowley was gesturing furiously, “was tell them to keep going and make it longer. That's it.”

“That was _you_? That was one of the most _iconic_ – oh my god. I can't believe this. You're a fucking legend. I'm gonna-” Freddie was doubled over with laughter, “- I'm gonna explode, 'cause I already told you I wasn't gonna say nothing. Can I at least tell my wife?”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure, man. Just make sure your kids don't go running around with the news.”

There was a loud banging on the door. “I think that’s Darryl, at least I hope it is.” Crowley said, very slowly, which sent Freddie into another laughing fit.

“You outta your mind, man,” Freddie got up and opened the front door to the studio. “Hey Darryl.”

Darryl worked his way behind the tape machine and let out a truly sublime string of profanities, followed by a loud groan.

“Yeah, well, I told you it was fucked up,” Freddie said. Despite Darryl's initial reaction, once he figured out the problem, it only took him about a half hour to replace the singed parts. He plugged the machine back in, reset the circuit breaker, and then Freddie started up the session again. Crowley was relieved to hear their work from the day play through the speakers loud and clear. Nothing had been lost.

“Thanks, Darryl, sorry to drag you out here.” Freddie shook Darryl's hand and pulled the day's tape off to label it.

“It’s a miracle all your work wasn’t ruined,” Darryl said as he closed up his tool box. Crowley looked at the tape that contained their work from the day. Had he inadvertently performed a miracle to save the tape? Was it something he had done while talking with Freddie?

“Well, thank _somebody_ for that,” Crowley said. He was a bit too high to make sense of it at the moment.

 

* * *

 

Monday, January 12, 1976  
Total Experience Recording Studios

It had been a long two days of catching up from Saturday's machine fiasco; tensions were a bit high in the studio and everyone was tired, but Freddie kept the Tavares brothers motivated. The songs were sounding great, and thanks to Freddie's focus, they were going to finish on time and under budget. It was around 6pm; they had all decided to skip dinner in favor of finishing up early. Crowley was hoping things would wrap up before it got too late so he could enjoy one more night with Bob before going back to London. He had come over to Crowley's hotel late on Saturday night, but after finishing off a bottle of wine, they'd both fallen asleep in their clothes. Crowley awoke to Bob snoring on the floor using a towel for a blanket. They'd finally gotten to go out for a real date on Sunday night: an incredible dinner at a jazz club, followed by a walk along the Santa Monica Pier. Crowley discovered he was very fond of a good snog to the soundtrack of crashing waves.

Freddie clapped his hands into the talkback and Crowley's eyes snapped open. “Y'all ready? Cause we're almost there. Guiding Star is the last song. We get this done and it's a wrap.” The brothers cheered. Crowley was in awe of how Freddie handled people; he was so good at pushing for better results while also offering enough positive feedback to build up the musicians' and singers' confidence. Crowley had learned so much from him in just a few short days.

Freddie waited until the Tavares brothers were in their positions in the iso booths and then hit record. “We're rollin',” he said into the talkback. A dramatic intro focused on Freddie's glockenspiel lines kicked off the ballad, and then Chubby began to sing:

 _I’ll be your guiding star_  
_My darling, cross my heart_  
_I’ll never leave you in the dark_

“Oh, I love this,” Crowley said.

“Me and Keni wrote this one too.” Freddie said as he adjusted the vocal inputs.

 _Oh and, I'll be your light_  
_at the top of the stairs_  
_and when you lay me down to sleep,_  
_I'll be the answer to your prayers_

“You're a damn good songwriter, Freddie.”

“Thanks.” Freddie looked pleased. “We almost didn’t put it on the album, but I’m glad it made it on here. Chubby liked bringing in the stars since you know, sky high, and all.”

“Always have loved the stars.”

The brothers did harmonies so well, and Crowley found himself feeling a bit soft around the edges as he closed his eyes and swayed to the beat. After a spoken word section, the vocals built up into a soaring finish, followed by some soft tinkling harps and strings fading out the song. Everyone waited until there was total silence, and then Freddie spoke into the talkback.

“I think that was great, y'all. Come in and listen to it, and we'll see if we need to touch anything up.” The brothers filed into the control room. Chubby wanted to redo one verse, so he headed back in to finish that, and before Crowley knew it, the session had wrapped. He felt a bit of emotion welling up in his chest as he shook hands with all the Tavares brothers and thanked them for having him on the project. It was quite odd, living as an eternal being among mortals; Crowley never felt more awkward about it than in these intensely human interactions. He felt he should be the one thanking all these humans for giving him some way to fill the blank canvas of time laid out before him. Because of his work on music, his entire existence had been transformed. He looked forward to these sessions, and now he knew the joy of helping to create the songs that ended up on these records. 

Freddie and Crowley were labeling and packing up the tapes when they heard the front door open. Crowley turned and saw Bob tapping gently on the control room door.

“Okay if I come on in?” he asked.

“Hey, man, yeah.” Freddie stood to shake Bob's hand, and then Bob walked over to Crowley. He placed a warm kiss on Crowley's cheek. “Awww,” Freddie said. Crowley felt his face begin to flush and he stared at the floor.

“Can I steal him away from you yet?” Bob teased.

“Of course. Sorry this piece of shit machine ruined your date.” Freddie gestured to the now-fixed tape machine.

Crowley stood and extended his hand to Freddie. “Thank you for having me here. It's been such a pleasure working with you. I've learned so much-” He didn't even get the sentence out before Freddie enveloped him in a firm hug.

“Man, you're a legend. It's been a great time. Come back over here soon, yeah?” He slapped Crowley on the back.

“Absolutely,” Crowley said. “And let me know anytime you're in London.”

They stood around and drew out the goodbyes for another twenty minutes. Eventually, Crowley followed Bob out of the studio.

Once they were on the sidewalk, Bob turned to Crowley and kissed him. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” Crowley said. “What about you?”

Bob shook his head. “I brought some snacks so you don't pass out. You make me worry!”

“I'm fine.” Crowley caught Bob rolling his eyes, but he was smiling all the same.

“Can I take you somewhere?” Bob opened the car door for Crowley.

“But of course. Where are we going?”

“Can it be... a surprise?” Crowley's eyebrows raised and he turned to look at Bob. “Nowhere bad, I promise.”

“Surprise me,” Crowley said as they took off. Bob turned on the radio, this time to a jazz station. A bright and cheery brass intro flowed through the speakers. As always, Bob knew the songs and all the lyrics. He was singing quietly, but Crowley could hear him hitting every note with perfect pitch.

 _Come and take a trip_  
_in my rocketship_  
_We'll have a lovely afternoon_  
_Kiss the world goodbye,_  
_and away we’ll fly_  
_Destination, moon_

Crowley caught a glimpse of a sign that read “Griffith Park” as they made their way up a narrow tree-lined road. Bob had to keep shifting gears, but that didn't stop him from reaching over and grabbing Crowley's hand in between, which Crowley found endearing. They finally reached the top of the hill and Bob parked the car. The varied lights of the city were visible from above, a loose grid of streets marked by red taillights, white headlights, and the streetlamps casting a warm golden glow over the city.

 _We'll go up, up, up up_  
_Straight to the moon, we two_  
_High in the starry blue_  
_I'll be out of this world with you_

“Come on,” Bob said, taking Crowley's hand and leading him to a large building. “We're going in here.” Crowley followed Bob up the stairs. Once they were at the entrance to the building, Bob tried each set of doors until he found one that was unlocked. As soon as they were inside, he locked it behind them.

“Sneaking in after hours, are we?” Crowley said playfully.

“Yes, well. Sort of. Got a friend who works here.”

Crowley was so focused on the warmth of Bob's hand in his own that he totally missed the planetary diagrams and star maps overhead. He didn't figure it out until they made it out the other side of the building and he saw a giant telescope on the edge of a terrace overlooking the city, the mountains, and the ocean. He turned and looked at Bob in wonder.

“You...” was all Crowley could get out.

Bob just laughed. “Hey, you like this. It's probably not the best place in the world to stargaze, but...?” Crowley answered the question by pulling him closer.

“This is,” Crowley was overcome. “This is wonderful.”

Bob leaned down and spoke into Crowley's ear. “I'd really love to kiss you up here for a bit, AJ. Is that okay?” He barely got the words out before Crowley threw his arms around Bob's neck and kissed him. Crowley felt no confusion, no shame. It just felt...  _good_. Just when Crowley began to worry about all the things he usually worried about, just when his kisses began to falter, Bob pulled away.

“I meant it when I said this is whatever you want it to be,” he said sincerely, tracing his index finger down the line of Crowley's snake tattoo and down the side of his neck. “You don't owe me anything, you know that, right? I just wanted to show you this.”

Crowley could only nod. “Okay,” he said, after a long moment.

Bob gently turned him around to face the telescope and put his arms around Crowley. “All right. Go on then, cutie. Tell me about the stars.”

* * *

 

Crowley excitedly babbled on about constellations, planets, and nebulas for a good hour, and then Bob led him to the edge of the terrace and pointed out various neighborhoods and landmarks. Then Bob leaned Crowley against the wall and they kissed with the moon and stars above them, the lights of the city below. When Crowley began to shiver, Bob wrapped his jacket around him and led him back to the car. The roof was on the covertible, but the light of the moon found its way inside, spilling over Bob's face. Crowley found himself feeling a bit anxious as they approached the hotel. Bob stopped the car just short of the valet and looked over at him tenderly.

“Thank you for letting me take you to the observatory,” he said, planting a kiss on the back of Crowley's hand. “If this is-”

“I'd really like it if you came up with me,” Crowley blurted out.

Bob smiled shyly as he put the car back in drive. “I'd like that, too.”

Crowley did his best to tame his beating heart while they rode the elevator up. They made it into his room and stood awkwardly facing each other for a minute before Bob stepped closer to Crowley, put his hands on his narrow waist, and kissed him. Bob laid his head on Crowley's shoulder and spoke softly into the crook of his neck.

“Look, AJ, I understand you're-”

“Right, I don’t think you do understand. I’ve never done this before.”

Bob shot him a look of surprise, but not judgment. “AJ, it’s okay. We don’t get the same stories that everyone else does. Just,” he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, “let me take care of you.”

“Okay.” Crowley sat on the bed. “Can you turn the lights off?” he asked. Bob smiled gently before flipping the switch; Crowley took his sunglasses off and carefully set them on the side table. The mattress dipped as Bob got on it and made his way over to Crowley, who flinched when a hand came perilously close to his eye.

“Ah, sorry! Just trying to find you,” Bob said as he gently used his hands to touch Crowley's neck and chest.

“I'm over here,” Crowley said, taking Bob's hand and putting it on his face. Bob kissed him, more ardently than before. He took his hands briefly off of Crowley's face and Crowley heard the noise of rustling clothing. Bob brought a hand back to his neck and pulled him closer, and Crowley realized he had taken off his shirt. He hesitantly ran his fingers over Bob's bare shoulders, feeling the texture of his skin and the muscle underneath.

“Is this okay?” Bob asked breathily between kisses.

“Yes.” It was suprisingly okay for Crowley, who remembered just in time to remove his shirt the way a human would. He pressed his chest up against Bob and felt a comforting warmth radiating off him. Bob wrapped an arm around Crowley and brought him closer into a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of Crowley's mouth.

“Oh my god,” Bob said, “I cannot _believe_ I get to do this with you.” Crowley let out a surprised squeak as Bob kissed his way down Crowley's neck and lapped at his collarbone. Bob brought him down, (with a hand on top of his head so he didn't whack it on the headboard) so they were laying on their sides facing one another, and wrapped a leg over Crowley. “You're just so, you're so stunning,” he said before rubbing his chin against Crowley's. Bob had the start of stubble coming in, and Crowley found he didn't mind the roughness of it on his face. He was aware of Bob's breathing becoming more like gasps, and he could feel Bob's heart pounding every time he ran his hands over his chest. Bob grabbed Crowley's hip and brought their bodies even closer together; Crowley felt something hard pressing against his thigh and remembered he hadn't yet made an Effort. He shifted positions so that Bob's hips weren't directly against his own, running a hand through Bob's hair as he did so.

“Everything okay?” Bob asked.

“Yeah.” Crowley took a deep breath and remembered all the times that Bob had checked in with him about physical contact. With that knowledge in mind, he eased back into kissing Bob and they quickly resumed the pace they had been keeping. Then, Crowley heard Bob unzipping his pants and the rustle of fabric; he felt Bob's entire naked body, hard cock and all, right up against him. He felt a rising sense of panic at the realization that he still had no Effort and no idea what he was doing or if he wanted to continue. Bob reached down and began fumbling with Crowley's snakeskin belt, and Crowley quickly placed his hands overtop Bob's.

“Is this okay?”

“I think I’d just,” Crowley struggled to get the words out as he sat up, “can I just-”

Bob rubbed a hand along his back. “Can you just what?”

“This is as far as I can go,” Crowley said. “I’m sorry.” He took a few long, slow breaths, feeling ashamed of his inexperience and the conflicting emotions within him.

“Hey, hey, beautiful boy, shh, none of that,” Bob said as sat up and softly planted a few kisses over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant it when I said we’d only do what you wanted.” Crowley put his hand over Bob’s and was met with a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to stop, AJ? Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Crowley said quickly, “don't go. I – I wouldn't mind continuing what we were doing?”

“Okay, okay, yeah. That's okay.” Bob brought his hand up to trace Crowley's brow and then kissed him, softly and carefully. Crowley was aware of something like the start of a fire low in his belly. Bob ran his hands over Crowley's back and through his hair. He began kissing Crowley again, tenderly and slowly at first, and then quickly the intensity built back up until they were both gasping for air. After a few moments of frantic kissing and groping, Bob pulled away.

“AJ, do you – do you mind if I, uh, take care of myself?” Bob asked.

Crowley nodded before realizing Bob couldn't see him. “Sure,” he said softly.

“You don't have to touch me,” Bob added.

“What if,” Crowley moved so he was sitting behind Bob, holding him the way Bob had held him on the beach, “is this okay?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, this is wonderful,” Bob said. Crowley was relieved; the very least he could do was follow Bob's lead by checking in with him. He felt Bob’s hand shift downwards and heard him let out a low grunt.

“You’re just really beautiful, AJ, you get me going.” Bob sucked in a breath. “I've never met anyone like you, god, can't believe I get to be here with you.”

He was getting somebody ‘going’ like this? Crowley knew what it felt like to be desired in a vague sense, as a demon and a tempter, but not in the way of having a very flushed and aroused human moaning in his arms.

“You’re such a good dancer, you were so good out there on the floor the other night.” Bob leaned further back into him, and Crowley gently stroked the outside of his arms. Then he slowly moved his hands down, running them along the outside of Bob's thighs, which elicited a low, sensual moan. Crowley was suddenly aware of the power he held in the situation, and he felt his heart beating faster. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, to have you like this - mmm.” Crowley leaned down to kiss him and was thrilled to hear and feel Bob respond so quickly to his touch.

“Oh, that feels so good, _god_ , you feel so good, holding me like that,” Bob said. Crowley felt his arm speed up and his body start to tense up. He reached down and wrapped his arm around Bob's stomach, bringing their bodies even closer together.

“It... feels good for me too,” Crowley said hesitantly, “I like being with you like this.” He began kissing Bob's cheek, and after receiving a cry of pleasure in response, dragged his teeth down Bob's jaw and nipped a bit at the side of his neck. “Do you like that?” Crowley asked, in a low voice he barely recognized as his own.

Crowley felt warmth spattering over his arm as Bob shuddered, threw his head back, and _howled_. “Oh my _god_ -” Crowley held him close as he continued to shake for a few moments more.

“Damn, that was intense,” Bob said after his breathing had slowed. He reached up to pull Crowley down into a kiss and gently stroked the hairs at the nape of Crowley's neck. “You're really something.”

Crowley let out a soft laugh. What were you supposed to say afterwards? “I'm, I think you're something too.”

“Are you sure you're okay? Is there anything I can do for you?” Bob flopped down and rolled Crowley over so he was holding him face to face.

“Oh, I'm quite all right,” Crowley said as he leaned in to kiss Bob again. “Maybe just a bit tired, honestly.”

“Oh, right.” Bob's voice was laced with the slightest touch of disappointment. “Do you want me to leave so you can get some sleep?” Bob started to sit up as if to leave the bed, and Crowley wrapped a leg around him so he couldn't move.

“Please don't go,” Crowley said, so softly he wasn't even sure Bob could hear. It suddenly got very quiet; just as Crowley thought he'd have to repeat himself, Bob cupped his face with both hands, and gave him a long and tender kiss.

“Whatever you want, beautiful boy.” Bob pulled the covers up around them both and turned so he was facing away from Crowley.

Crowley kept his arm on the outside of the covers. “Do you want to, uh, clean yourself up or anything?”

Bob laughed. “That's why I turned over.” He reached back to grab Crowley's arm and wrap it over him. Crowley let out a chuckle and felt the warmth of his breath reflect back from Bob's neck. Crowley snuggled closer and breathed in the scent of Bob's hair.

“As you wish,” Crowley said.

“Don't care. Don't wanna leave you,” Bob muttered.

It was only a few minutes before Bob's breathing fell into a steady rhythm and his body relaxed into slumber. Crowley was indeed tired, but he stayed awake for at least an hour enjoying the warmth and comfort of holding Bob close as he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will add additional notes as needed!
> 
> The Griffith Park Observatory is one of my favorite places in the world. definitely something to see if you're ever in Los Angeles!


	20. Just Don't Want To Be Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes his way back to London and back on the air at Radio Invicta. Aziraphale is overwhelmed with memories, one in particular, and he knows he needs to make an apology for his behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief reference to sexual assault in this chapter but no one is assaulted. And Crowley ends up pretty drunk in this chapter - please mind those warnings!
> 
> Hello everyone, thank you so much for being with us on the journey. I promise they will get their shit together, I promise. It's a slow *slow* burn. Oddly enough for as long as this chapter is, it didn't end up being too music-heavy. 
> 
> And thanks for bearing with me about this week - I had to finish up a gift exchange fic this week and also, lol, this suddenly became 7k words, WHOOPS my hand slipped! Great thanks to @ trickshire for beta-ing!

Tuesday, January 13, 1976  
Hollywood, California

Crowley awoke to Bob nuzzling into the sensitive place between his shoulder blades. “Good morning, beautiful boy.” Bob lifted up Crowley's hair and planted a kiss at the nape of his neck. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I did.” Crowley's voice was a bit froggy. He had slept, very well; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so deeply. He remembered that he needed his sunglasses, and fumbled around for them only to discover he had ended up on the wrong side of the bed.

“Here you go,” Bob said, pressing his sunglasses into his hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, mornings are always a bit rough, but I'm okay.”

“What time is your flight?” Bob ran his hand down the outside of Crowley's arm.

“It's at noon,” Crowley said. Seemed as good a time as any. No way he was going to take commercial transport back to London.

“Oh, we better get going then. I'm gonna jump in the shower real quick.” Bob was quiet for a moment, then wrapped his arm around Crowley's torso and kissed him behind his ear. “Would you like to join me?”

Crowley turned over onto his back and reached out for Bob's face. “I, uh, I think I'm gonna pack.” Bob rolled over until he was lying on top of Crowley and leaned down to kiss Crowley's forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips. Crowley didn't mean to, but he let out a small contented moan. Bob continued kissing him for a while longer.

“Okay. I better hop in the shower before I get carried away,” he said, winking playfully at Crowley before swinging his legs off the bed and heading into the bathroom. Crowley took in the sight of him; tall and lean with a body shape fairly simliar to his own, freckles dotting his back and shoulders. 'Not too bad,' Crowley thought as he rolled over and got out of bed. He hurriedly got dressed and packed up the few belongings he'd brought with him in his usual travel bag, setting it next to his brand new second suitcase, which was stuffed full of records. It didn't take long before Bob was out of the shower with a towel slung around his muscular waist. He wordlessly pulled Crowley into his arms and rubbed a freshly-shaved cheek against him, _god_ , he smelled good; Crowley curled into his warmth and enjoyed a nice snog for a few minutes more until it was time to head out.

 

* * *

 

They held hands the entire way to the airport, until Bob pulled up outside the international terminal and parked the car. He hopped out and set Crowley's heavy suitcase full of records on the curb before opening the car door for him.

“So, uhh...” Crowley looked at his hand in Bob's; he had no idea what to say at this point. Bob flashed him a playful smile and quickly hooked his other hand around the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

“So, uhh, I had a great time with you,” Bob kissed him, “and I know how to get a hold of you,” Bob kissed him again, “and I hope we can do it again soon.” Crowley was so flustered he couldn't speak, but he managed to have the presence of mind to kiss Bob back, knocking him off the edge of the curb as he did so. Bob broke into laughter as he stepped back up and kissed Crowley again, this time cupping his face with both hands and stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs.

Crowley finally gathered the courage to speak. “Thank you for... being who you are,” he said quietly.

“It was my pleasure to show you a good time,” Bob said. “Please let me know when you make it home. Okay?” He squeezed Crowley's hand, then gave him one last kiss on the cheek. He was back in the car before Crowley even turned to walk into the terminal. Crowley eventually collected himself and made his way to an inconspicuous spot to use a little demonic magic to pop off back to London.

 

* * *

Wednesday, 14 January 1976  
Mayfair, London

Crowley arrived back to his flat early the next morning with a giant headache. Thankfully, the plants knew what was good for them, and had managed to survive on less water than normal while Crowley was away. He carefully placed the records on the shelf and decided to make himself a cup of tea.

Being back in London was definitely different; it was a lot harder to forget all the other aspects of his existence while he was standing in his living room with the statue he'd saved from the church in 1941, along with a thousand other reminders of his time spent with Aziraphale. It was hard to shake off the loneliness he felt not fifteen minutes after arriving home. How had he gotten used to being by himself this often? He pressed play on the answering machine.

“Hello, Crowley, it's me, ah, I wanted to see if you were around and might possibly want to come by. Uh, okay.”

“Hi, Crowley, it's me again. Just-”

He pushed the stop button with an unneccessarily dramatic flair. Dealing with Aziraphale was just not in the cards for tonight. He kicked his boots off, slumped down onto the sofa, and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Thursday, 15 January 1976  
Radio Invicta (undisclosed location)  
London  


After sleeping for sixteen hours, Crowley returned a call from Bob, apologizing for the delay and letting him know he was all right. He then proceeded to sleep for another six hours. Once he woke up and was moving again, he was thrilled to get back to being on the air; he needed the distraction and the return to the best part of his current routine. He arrived an hour early so he could catch up with Roger, who wanted to hear all the details of his trip to LA (specifically any and every detail Crowley could remember about the recording gear.) Crowley began queueing up records as they were chatting, and by the time 9pm rolled around, he had at least two hours of new music lined up and ready to go. On the other side of town, Aziraphale was tuned in, sitting in front of the radio with a full mug of hot cocoa, spiked with a bit of Irish cream.

“Good evening, you’re listening to Radio Invicta. I’m your guardian of the groove, AJ Crowley, recently back from Los Angeles, and I am armed... with a giant stack of new records I’ve brought back from America to share with all of you. So sit back and relax, you’re listening to 92.4, and this is First Choice.”

Aziraphale let out a deep breath; he was so relieved to hear Crowley's voice on the air. He would listen in until midnight, and then he'd try giving Crowley another call once his set was over. A siren and an aggressive riff kicked off the track, complete with a monologue about a “dangerous man” roaming the streets, then a trio of women began to sing:

 _Said he’s dangerous_  
_Armed and extremely dangerous_

Aziraphale found himself thinking of the dozens of times Crowley had come to his rescue over the millennia; there was one time in particular that Aziraphale thought about often under specific circumstances.

It was 1568; they had been in Edinburgh; not _together_ as, well, their sides wouldn't like that, and they really weren't _supposed_ to be doing that, and, and, and, but Aziraphale and Crowley were well into their Arrangement at this point. Aziraphale had gotten an assignment to work as a nun in a convent for a while, and Crowley had decided to tag along and see if he could cause any trouble. Though Crowley's side was a lot more severe with their punishments, they were far less stringent in their observation and enforcement.

There had been rumors of a plague sweeping through the outskirts of town, and eventually it broke through the city limits. Theoretically, convents and monasteries typically handled outbreaks better than the general population, but not this time. Three-quarters of the nuns fell ill, and Aziraphale had to watch helplessly as most of them went on to die. He couldn't even remember how the whole fracas started; probably someone noticed he had spent time caring for the sick without catching the “evil” himself. Or herself, as Aziraphale was currently in a feminine form. Aziraphale had been sent to the nearest market street to procure food for the nuns who had managed not to fall ill; it turned out to be a setup. Once he arrived and began speaking with the usual baker, the shop was quickly surrounded by a small crowd of very angry men.

“There she is!” one man cried out. “She's the one! She's been caring for the sick and not got ill herself.”

“You know what that means,” another voice in the crowd called out.

“Witch! Witch! Witch!”

At first, Aziraphale wasn't even flustered; he attempted to leave the bakery by explaining that he was simply getting bread to take back to the convent. That didn't work; the three men at the lead of the mob grabbed him by both arms and began to haul him up the street. Aziraphale panicked and tried to think of a plan - any plan - to get himself out of this situation.

“This is really all a mistake,” he said.

“Silence, witch!”

“I’m a Sister at the convent, surely you can't-” Aziraphale was cut off by one of the men yanking him violently up the sidewalk. “Is that really necessary?”

“No place for evil witches here in Christian Edinburgh! You probably brought the evil illness here yourself!”

 _Cause I hit on the bait that he threw,_  
_and I got hooked – dont let it happen to you!_  
_Said, he's dangerous_  
_Armed and extremely dangerous (Oh, yeah, ooh, hoo)_

They dragged Aziraphale towards three other men who were mounted on horseback. Nothing good could come of this, Aziraphale was certain. They would likely take him out to the forest and attempt to burn him, or something worse. Aziraphale let out a frustrated sigh and began working the mental calculations of 'unnecessary and/or self-serving miracles' vs. 'type/severity of punishment received for being discorporated.'

Suddenly, Aziraphale saw a rippling motion, and the crowd began to part; he noticed the serpentine nature of it long before he realized exactly what was happening. Then he heard the terrified screams:

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it's a snake! Run!”

The majority of the crowd was taken over by panic and took off; however, the men holding Aziraphale stayed put as Crowley slithered right up to them. He was the size and shape he'd been in Eden; large, intimidating, dangerous.

The man to Aziraphale's right screamed directly in his ear. “This is your evil magic, is it not, witch?”

“She's gone and called up a bloody serpent! That only means one thing, gentlemen! She's a witch!”

And that's when Crowley pulled out _all_ the stops; he raised himself to the height of a man, bit at least six people in the crowd, and used his tail to rile up the horses, two of whom bucked and tossed their riders arse-first onto the hard cobblestone. Once the situation had descended into total chaos, Crowley changed back into his human form (causing a few men to pass out), and grabbed the reins of a black horse. The men holding Aziraphale suddenly found themselves without the use of their arms and legs, and Crowley called him over.

“Angel! Come on!”

Crowley gestured to his clasped hands and Aziraphale stepped up onto them. Then both of Crowley's hands were briefly on his arse as he pushed him upwards onto the horse. He didn't even have time to think about how that felt or what it meant.

“Get behind the saddle,” Crowley said as he stuck a foot in the stirrup and hoisted his body onto the saddle. Once seated, he began whipping the horse furiously forward with a freshly conjured riding crop. They were near the outskirts of town much faster than Aziraphale had anticipated. At this point, it was probably demonic magic at work, and the angel was quite thankful for it.

“Hang on, Angel, it won't be long before they're coming for us.”

The horse lurched over a crooked cobbledstone at the end of a path, and Aziraphale put both his arms around Crowley and held on for dear life. “Crowley, you could have been discorporated!”

“Oh really? Is that so?” Crowley’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“I'm certain I would have been fine, if only I had been able to explain that-”

“You can thank me later, Angel. What I need for you is to shut up-” Crowley reached his arm behind Aziraphale to whip the horse and accidentally landed a sharp blow to Aziraphale’s thigh. The angel yelped and clutched Crowley tighter.

“Ahh! That wasn’t the horse!”

“Aziraphale! Hang on!”

“Watch where you’re whipping!”

“Oh heavens, I’m so sorry. I am so sorry,” Crowley yelled into the wind and the words floated back to Aziraphale. “I’ll fix it as soon as I get you somewhere safe.”

The stinging and heat radiated out from Aziraphale’s thigh and he suddenly became aware of all the sensations both in and around him: his hips bouncing as the horse carried them over, his arms around Crowley, who was _awfully_ warm for a serpent, the smoky, musky smell of Crowley’s hair as he burrowed his face into it. They had never been so close. Every so often Crowley would look back over his shoulder to see how far away they had gotten from their pursuers. His nose brushed Aziraphale’s at one point and the angel thought he might discorporate.

Aziraphale turned and saw two men on horseback gaining on them. “Crowley dear, I’m afraid they’re approaching us again.”

Crowley grunted, a noise Aziraphale could feel as he held onto him for dear life, and landed several blows with the crop on the horse's rump. Azirahale felt Crowley’s taut muscles rippling as he twisted around and he started to wonder how he’d never noticed how strong Crowley was. He led the horse down a wooded path, and they were soon separated from the main search party. Aziraphale and Crowley sat quietly on the horse as they heard the hoofbeats passing them by. Crowley turned the horse around and they found a small clearing off the main path.

He dismounted and offered his hand to Aziraphale, showing the angel how to stick his foot in the stirrups to safely get down.

“I really must thank you.” Aziraphale brushed twigs and leaves off his habit.

“It's no problem, Angel. They didn’t,” Crowley looked down at the ground, “they didn’t... take you, did they?”

It took a while for Aziraphale to figure out what Crowley was trying to ask. “Oh heavens, no, Crowley. My honor remains intact.” He went for lighthearted humor, only to look into Crowley’s eyes and see barely disguised rage.

“I wasn’t worried about your honor,” Crowley ran his fingers over the edge of Aziraphale’s habit. “Was worried about you,” he said quietly.

“I really must thank you,” Aziraphale said as he adjusted his habit. “How can I make it up to you?”

“Is your leg okay? From where I...” Crowley was again staring at the ground. Aziraphale’s thigh still stung, but there were other feelings he couldn’t quite identify with it as well; feelings he didn’t want to go away so quickly.

“Oh, it’s quite fine, took care of it myself already,” Aziraphale lied. There was no way he was going to miracle it away.

“Nice habit, Angel.” The smallest of smirks was starting to form on Crowley's face. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Not entirely my style, but, thank you.”

“Can we give you a lift?” Crowley asked, tilting his head towards the horse, which was now looking much better.

“Ah...” Aziraphale tugged at the collar of his habit. He was suddenly quite warm.

“Come on, not much around here. I'll take you where you need to go.” Aziraphale looked around. They were in a clearing in the forest on the edge of town; probably not the best place to be as night fell.

“I'm not sure it's safe for me to head back to the convent,” Aziraphale said. “I'm pretty sure today's incident was _arranged_ by the Head Sister.”

“Hmm.” Crowley stroked his chin. “Well, I hear a room at the inn on the east side of town is now _miraculously_ available. Maybe do a little change of appearance and we'll get on our way?”

Aziraphale sighed in relief. “I can't tell you how tired I am of this habit.” Crowley tossed his head back and laughed. A moment later, Aziraphale was in masculine presentation, wearing a thick brown robe, a fur stole, and a button-up vest that was in fashion at the time.

“Nice.” Crowley held his hands together so Aziraphale could step up on them. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale put his foot in Crowley's hand and was surprised at how easily and quickly he was atop the horse. A moment later, Crowley nimbly hopped on and sat behind him.

“What are you doing, Crowley? Don't you need to um, guide the steed?”

“Nah, Angel, he's good. Figured you might want the more comfortable seat this time.” Crowley reached around Aziraphale to grab the reins and gave the horse a little kick to move him forward. Aziraphale placed his hands on the saddle and looked down at Crowley's arms, circled around him. It was almost as if he were _holding_ him. Aziraphale took a deep breath and leaned back just a bit into Crowley. They enjoyed easy conversation during the leisurely ride to the opposite side of town.

It wasn't long before Aziraphale was safely to his room in the inn, tucked under a nice warm blanket, alone with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He couldn’t stop rubbing the spot on his thigh where Crowley had accidentally struck him. It still stung, but it served as a reminder of the thrill of being rescued; Aziraphale could still recall the scent of Crowley's hair. His hand migrated from his thigh upwards to lazily trace around his labia. One thing led to another, and Aziraphale allowed himself to continue the narrative as he slipped the fingers of his other hand inside himself. What if Crowley had placed a hand on his cheek in the forest? What if he brought their lips together for a kiss? What if he'd splayed himself backwards on a conjured blanket and slowly pulled Crowley's body overtop his? And what if Crowley had pulled up the habit he'd been wearing and slowly slipped his hand inside – that was the thought that took Aziraphale over the edge, and he bit his lip to avoid crying out as he came, rubbing long strokes over his clit with one hand and tracing the outline of the welt on his thigh with the other.

_He don’t care for nobody but his self – ow!_

The lead singer wailed, just absolutely fucking cut loose over the end of the song, and Aziraphale simply could not help himself. It was the one fantasy about Crowley he returned to again and again. He shoved a hand down his trousers as he had that night in Edinburgh. He thought about dangerous Crowley, slithering in as a venomous serpent. And mysterious Crowley, so gallant, so brave, so strong - heavens, he’d picked Aziraphale up and tossed him on the horse as though he were made of spun sugar. Aziraphale closed his eyes and rubbed quick, firm circles around his clit and remembered the feel of Crowley's muscles rippling as he urged the horse to go faster, and the sting of the crop as it had come down on Aziraphale’s thigh – and, oh! It _never_ took long for that thought to make him come, and there he was, shuddering around his own fingers, wondering what it would be like if it were Crowley’s fingers inside him, Crowley’s strong hand on his thigh. By the time the short song had finished, Aziraphale had made a right mess of himself.

 

* * *

 

The evening had gone by faster than usual; Crowley had really enjoyed playing songs from all his new records, and he was pleased that he had barely scratched the surface of what he'd brought back. Good news all around. He picked out the last song of the night and pulled the microphone closer to him.

“That's all for me this evening. My name is AJ Crowley, and you've been listening to Radio Invicta. This is by Blue Magic from the self-titled album, it's called Just Don't Want to be Lonely, and I hope all you fine listeners out there are having a great Thursday night. I'll be back with you same time next week here on 92.4, the home of Soul Over London.”

A long drum fill and dramatic strings kicked off the song, and Crowley made sure all was well before starting to pack up the records he wanted to take home with him.

 _I don't mind when you say that you're going away_  
_I just don't wanna be lonely_  
_And I don't care if you share only moments a day_  
_I just don't wanna be lonely (I just don't wanna be lonely)_

Crowley heard a knock on the door and frowned. Who could be here this time of night? Maybe Bob had forgotten his keys or something. He opened the door and there was Jack, smiling broadly.

“AJ! How you doing, mate.” Jack gave him a fierce hug. “Was hoping I'd catch you before you hopped off to head home. How are you? How was Hollywood?” He nudged Crowley in the ribs and grinned like he was privy to a really juicy secret.

“It's great to see you. Hollywood was, it was really nice, yeah,” Crowley said. “Thanks again for covering for me, I really appreciate it. Did you have fun?”

“Oh, absolutely. Such a good time. Listen, I know it's a bit late but, do you want to maybe uh, head out with me to Brixton? We can catch the last hour or so of this soul night where my mate is playing records. But - only if you want.”

_I just don't wanna be lonely (I just don't wanna be lonely)_

“I'd love to. Let me shut everything down and I'm good to go.”

“I'll help you,” Jack said cheerfully. He began putting records away and rolling up cords. It wasn't long before the last song of the night faded into silence; Crowley shut down the transistor and turned off the “On Air” light.

“Did you take the Tube?” Crowley asked Jack as he slung his record bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I did. Been staying with a friend over near Mayfair.”

“Hey, that's where I live. You should come by sometime, maybe, uh, listen to some more of the stuff I brought back from America.” Crowley offered up the invite while staring at the ground, just in case it wasn't wanted.

“Oh really?” Jack's face lit up with joy. “Ah, that sounds great, mate, I'd love to hear what you got. Just name the day. I'm not heading back to Manchester until the 22nd.”

“Yeah? Well, all right then.”

They headed for the elevator; Crowley happily listened to Jack list off his most recent record purchases until they arrived at the Bentley.

“Is this your car, AJ? God, she's beautiful.” Jack's brows were all the way up to his hairline.

Crowley hadn't thought about how a pristine 50-some year old car would appear to the average human, but quickly came up with a line. “It was my granddad's actually.”

“Mate, that's... that's spectacular. You know, you're just one of the coolest blokes around.”

Crowley smiled a bit. “Oh, shut up,” he said good-naturedly. Jack laughed, and they set off for Brixton.

* * *

 

Aziraphale waited until half past midnight before calling. Surely Crowley would be home by now, yes? No such luck. He got the answering machine. “You've reached AJ Crowley. You know what to do.” He slung the phone back in the cradle and ended up knocking over an entire stack of books from the edge of his desk.

* * *

 

Crowley didn't make it home until well after 3am; he and Jack had quite the evening out. Jack hadn't been kidding when he said he knew the best DJ's; Crowley spent the night being wowed by every single track that was played. They agreed to make it more of a regular thing whenever Jack was down in London. Jack insisted on buying them both drinks, loads of drinks, and Crowley did use a bit of magic to make sure they both made it home safely. It was just what he needed, honestly; he went home and collapsed onto the couch.

He kept having a dream that the phone was ringing and wouldn't stop, then Crowley awoke to the phone ringing.

“Leave a message,” he muttered under his breath as he flipped over onto his other side. He hadn't, after all, paid so much money for a brand new piece of technology only to have people not use it. Unfortunately, the caller did not leave a message, and the phone continued to ring, and ring, and ring.

“What on earth do you want?” Crowley never answered the phone like this, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale's voice sounded unusually raspy. “Ah, hello. I was just, I wanted to speak with you.”

“Well, here I am.” It was unlike him to be so snippy, but he was still not over the whole being-stood-up-on-Christmas-Eve thing. He stayed silent, and eventually Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“I owe you an apology, and I was hoping you might wish to come by the bookshop so I could deliver it properly.” The angel sounded painfully sincere, and Crowley felt a twisting in his chest.

He let out a long sigh. “Fine. I'll come by tonight.” Crowley hung up the phone before he could think about it too much.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale heard the crash of the doors around 7:30pm. Crowley stumbled into the bookshop looking like he'd just been dragged to Hell and back. He was already drunk; Aziraphale could tell that much.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley's voice was high, false, insincere. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your request? Time to have some wine?” Crowley looked at the angel's face; hollows in his cheeks and bags under his eyes. It looked as though he hadn't been eating, or resting.

“I need to apologize.” Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked at the floor.

“Apologize? Apologize for what? No need for that.” Crowley was really pushing it now, he knew it, he knew he was saying things for no other reason than to hurt, but Satan preserve him, he just couldn't help it.

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale's voice was just above a whisper. “I can explain. I would like to try to explain.” Crowley looked and met Aziraphale's eyes and felt a small pang of guilt.

“By all means, Angel.” Crowley sauntered over to the sofa and slouched against an armrest in a familiar way.

“It was Gabriel. He came by for a, some 'end of year' checkup. I tried to get rid of him, but he wouldn't go. I thought if I stalled, he'd eventually get tired and head off. And then, I just, I got so worried. I couldn't have you coming in picking me up for a... for an evening out with him there. So then I blessed the steps, and I -” Aziraphale was sweating a bit now, and he reached up to run a trembling hand over his eyebrow.

Crowley sighed with a couple thousand years of emotions built up around it. “So you just let me sit there for a few hours without letting me know... anything? _At all_?”

“I didn't know it was-”

“Of course you didn't know, Aziraphale. Of course you didn't.” Crowley was quite angry. “A friend told me something this week, Aziraphale, do you know what he said? Let me tell you. He said that statistically, once you’ve known someone for eight years or more, it’s almost a certainty-“ Crowley brought his glass down with force and it shattered on the table, “-that they’ll be in your life until they die. Eight years is all it takes. So what do you think that means for us?”

Aziraphale’s lip was trembling and he was trying, he was really trying to hold back the tears. “I’m not-”

“You do realize that you’re sort of stuck with me, yes? That I’m stuck, here, with you? We’re literally stuck here together.” Aziraphale nodded tearfully. He'd never seen Crowley this upset. “There's no-” Crowley gestured between the two of them, “-there's no escape from this, yeah? If either of us, if we somehow got out of this, it would mean that quite a lot of shit just went completely off the rails.”

Aziraphale just stared at him. Crowley wasn't entirely sure where he was going with it, either.

“I'm like a bad penny, Angel. You can't just run away from me. You can't shut me out when things like this happen. I'm always gonna be turning up. Whether you want me to or not.” Crowley crossed his arms; he hadn't taken his sunglasses off, but Aziraphale knew when he was glaring.

“I didn't say I didn't want you to turn up,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Well, it sure as shit feels like it sometimes.” Crowley was surprising even himself tonight. It wasn't just the giant pour of whisky he'd downed before heading over to the bookshop. They sat in silence for a moment and then Crowley snapped his fingers to clean up the glass he'd broken. “I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't have done that,” he said softly.

“It's all right.” Aziraphale delivered it with the practiced air of a long-suffering spouse. “If you don't want to stay, you don't-”

“I didn't say that.” Crowley was prickly, but he wasn't leaving. That was a good sign at least. Aziraphale got up and brought over a bottle of port, one he'd been saving for a special occasion. He filled both their glasses without even asking if Crowley wanted more.

“I, um, I got you a few things this week.” Aziraphale dug around behind the desk and brought out the stack of records and singles he'd gotten for Crowley in Paris. “I took a short trip, and I thought that you might enjoy some music from across the way.”

Crowley looked up at the angel, who was standing before him with his hands clasped behind his back, and a good portion of the anger he'd been feeling melted away. “You got me some records?” He began thumbing through them.

“Shall I put one on?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah, sure. Pick whatever you want.”

The phrasing wasn't lost on Aziraphale, who was recounting several thousand years of “whatever you want,” the way it always landed between them, the knowledge that there was literally nothing Crowley wouldn't do for him. His hands were shaking as he selected a Françoise Hardy record. “This one came highly recommended.” They drank the entire bottle of port and didn't speak through the first side of the record, or the second. It took the scratch of the needle running off the edge of the record for Crowley to break the silence.

“I like that. What about this one next?” Crowley asked, holding up one of the singles. Aziraphale nodded and popped it on.

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley. Crowley, who he'd thought of as “his” in some way or another for at least a couple hundred years. Crowley had also gone off after he'd failed to show up for the party. Had Crowley done the sort of thing Aziraphale had done in Paris? He tried to imagine Crowley cruising, in someone else's arms.  
It was too much. Aziraphale tried so hard not to think of himself as a jealous being, it was a sin, after all, but he couldn't focus, and he felt Crowley wasn't all the way present to begin with.

“Crowley? Do you like it?”

“It's nice.” Aziraphale noted his sunglasses were still on. Not a good sign. He waited patiently for Crowley to speak again. “Don't have a clue what she's saying, but it's nice.”

 _il faut que tu m'expliques un peu mieux / you have to explain to me a little better_  
_comment te dire adieu / how to say goodbye to you_

“I think it's a song about uh, learning how to say goodbye. To a lover.” The last sentence caught and snagged on its way out of Aziraphale's mouth.

“Didn't realize you spoke French,” Crowley quipped. Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley was thinking about: the time he'd rescued Aziraphale from certain discorporation, one of the many times he'd let his hand show in terms of how he felt about the angel.

“Well, after that incident, I thought it best to learn a bit.”

“Ahh, well that's good, might not always have a sneaky demon around to come to your rescue.” Crowley slurred his words a bit and kept his eyes noticeably not on Aziraphale.

“You've always been there when I needed you, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley and felt as though the center of his chest was being pulled apart at a seam.

_Devant toi surexposer mes yeux / Before you overexpose my eyes_

“Ahh, she's talking again. What's she saying now?” Crowley asked.

“It's um,” Aziraphale's voice cracked. “She's talking about her eyes, how she doesn't want them to be overexposed, how, um, she would...” He listened intently for the next lines to try and put it all together, but instead, it undid him.

_Comment te dire adieu / How to say goodbye to you_

The mere thought of losing Crowley sent Aziraphale into a spiral of terror. He was going to have to do something, anything, to show Crowley that he cared, that he didn't want him to leave, that he truly couldn't handle it if he did. And he had to do it _now_. Aziraphale launched himself across the couch, threw his arms around Crowley's neck, and pressed his lips against Crowley's. There was little grace in it; Crowley made lots of surprised sounds before slowly pulling away and rubbing at his lip.

“Angel?!” Crowley looked down over the top of his sunglasses with genuine shock on his features.

“Crowley, I've wanted you for so long, please-” Aziraphale threw a leg over Crowley and straddled him. Crowley started off gingerly touching Aziraphale's back, barely able to believe he was doing it. Aziraphale continued kissing him, deeper, then with a bit of tongue, and he felt the exact moment when the dam burst. Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel and clung to him desperately, breathing out little moans against his lips that sounded as if they were thousands of years in the making. Aziraphale was inundated by the sheer amount of desire radiating off of Crowley. How had he willfully ignored this for so long?

Crowley shifted and took his hands down to Aziraphale's hips, and was aware of Aziraphale's Effort pressing warm, hard, and hot against his thigh. It wasn't typically his first choice, but Crowley manifested himself a matching Effort, nothing too fancy, just the one he'd had the last time he'd tried this. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of Aziraphale grinding down on him as his own cock strained against his trousers.

“Is this what you want?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded, meeting his eyes with a look that seemed more like panic than desire. Then the angel leaned down and kissed him. Crowley felt like he couldn't breathe. Of all the thousands of times he'd pictured their first anything, this wasn't anywhere close to how it went in his head. But this was Aziraphale – his one and only constant in this existence —and so he decided to roll with it. Crowley willed himself to relax and brought his hand up to the angel's face. His skin was just as soft as Crowley had always imagined, but he only got to touch it for a moment before Aziraphale threw his head back and moaned.

“I need you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice rough with desire in a way Crowley had never heard.

Crowley's cock twitched at the words, and he let his head fall forward against Aziraphale's chest. He groaned as he kissed and licked a line up to Aziraphale's jaw. “Ahh, fuck – Angel. I’ve wanted you so - I want you, too.” Crowley stopped himself from letting out the entire sentiment and avoided meeting Aziraphale's eyes as he said it, just in case this was all a fever dream. He felt something fiery building low in his belly.

Aziraphale ground his hips down against him and reached down between their bodies to grab Crowley's cock through his trousers. “Crowley, please, let me.” Aziraphale wasn’t above begging to show him – to finally show him – that he did care, he did desire him, he did, truly he did.

“I’m not going to - I can’t last if you keep doing that, Angel,” Crowley gritted his teeth. It had been so long since he’d messed about with a cock, and he was so pent up, he felt like he was going to explode. Aziraphale wrapped his other hand around the back of Crowley’s neck and the brush of those manicured fingernails against Crowley's scalp caused him to thrust upwards, seeking friction. He felt like he was about to discorporate. Crowley didn’t really want this to be how it all played out for their first time together. But it was just their first time, right? Finally, it was their first time, after far too long. Crowley allowed his mind to wander a bit and imagined himself on his knees, taking Aziraphale into his mouth and sucking all the pleasure he could right out of him. He tried to stop himself from coming but couldn’t. “Aziraphale, Aziraphale!” he cried out as the tension built up within him finally snapped. Crowley came so hard, he cramped up a bit from the intensity of it all.

Hearing Crowley come while screaming his name into his chest was too much for Aziraphale, who only had to stroke himself once through his trousers before he too, was coming all over himself. He bit his lip to try to stifle a moan as he fell forward onto Crowley's shoulder. He began to panic before the waves of orgasm had even stopped washing over him. Oh, what in the heavens had he done? Surely there would be consquences for his. Crowley was still holding him, so tenderly; Aziraphale realized neither of them had even so much as rolled up their sleeves, and he was wracked with guilt. This wasn't how he'd imagined it going, at all.

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley moaned into his neck, so tenderly that it coaxed a little whimper out of the angel. Aziraphale breathed in the scent of his hair, felt the warmth of his skin. He was honestly expecting a fellow angel or even God herself to come down to smite them both instantly, and his mouth refused to form a single word. Aziraphale settled on pressing his cheek to Crowley's and running his trembling fingers through his hair. “Do you want to maybe, uh, get cleaned up with me?” Crowley asked as he placed a kiss at the base of Aziraphale's neck as he ran his hands down his back.

“Uhh-” Aziraphale made a non-committal noise and leaned away from Crowley just a bit.

“Uhh? Is this not what you wanted?” Crowley looked horrified, and immediately took his hands off Aziraphale.

“Crowley, it is, I assure you it is what I wanted, what I _want_ -” Aziraphale corrected himself too quickly, and Crowley sat all the way back on the sofa.

“But?” Crowley popped the end of the word, and now Aziraphale was really in trouble.

“We just, we _are_ going to have to be,” Aziraphale motioned with his fingers as if trying to catch the words with them, “careful, you know.”

“Oh, oh, right. Of course. So, _now_ we're going to have to be careful, hmm?” Crowley stood and Aziraphale noticed there was no evidence of their encounter anywhere on him; he'd already miracled himself clean.

“Crowley, I didn't mean it like that -”

“No, Aziraphale. You never do.” He stood and began heading for the door. “I'll leave you to it, don't want to interrupt any of your uh-” he waved his hand around like he was trying to swat a fly; Aziraphale could tell he was still incredibly drunk, “-plans, or your work, or whatever.”

“Crowley, please, wait. We really should talk about this, I'm afraid I'm still not explaining myself very well at all.” Aziraphale could no longer keep the panic out of his voice.

“Don't think there's much to explain,” Crowley said, addressing a bookshelf instead of even turning his body to face Aziraphale. “Had a _fantastic_ time though, call me anytime you _need_ me.” He sounded so deliberately sleazy and tempting; Aziraphale felt even worse for somehow managing to fuck all of this up so spectacularly.

“ _Crowley!_ " Aziraphale finally broke and cried out.

Crowley groaned. “Oh, don't sound so, so – like that. I'm not going anywhere, Angel. I never do.” He strutted out the door, and Aziraphale managed to hold it together until the sound of his boots clicking over the sidewalk had faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The album they're listening to that isn't directly quoted is Françoise Hardy's "Message Personnel." it will be back later which is why it's not on the playlist yet.


	21. Ten Percent of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's now the summer of 1976... let's check in to see what's been happening over the past few months!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so depressed after writing this last chapter that I just had to get this done for everyone, but mostly for myself. Writing angst is like, the absolute worst. I am so sad. But I promise they will get it together during this slowest of slow burns.

Thursday 16 June 1976  
Radio Invicta (undisclosed location)  
London

“AJ, AJ!” Crowley opened his eyes to see Roger standing next to him, gently shaking his shoulder. What was Roger doing in his flat? Why was Roger whispering?

“Mmmurmph.” Crowley wiped the drool off his mouth. “What?”

“You went silent on the air.” Roger pointed to the stopped turntable. “You got something to go on right now?”

“Shit!” Crowley hissed. He leapt out of his chair, grabbed the first record from the stack, and tossed it on. “Sorry about that,” Crowley said over the soft drum intro. “We had a bit of technical difficulties there for a moment, but we're back. This is Fontella Bass, and you're listening to Radio Invicta.”

_You made me leave my happy home_   
_You took my love and now you're gone_   
_Baby, since I fell for you_

“Hey, mate, are you all right?” Roger's hand hadn't left his shoulder since he came out of his room to wake Crowley up.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Why do you ask?”

Roger patted him on the shoulder, then sat down in the chair next to him. “You just seem a bit down, is all.” He sounded so sincere, Crowley couldn't even bear to look at him. They sat and listened to most of the song before Roger spoke up again. “It's all right if you don't want to talk. But I'm here, you know. If you do. Not now, but in general.” He took a breath, then kept rambling on, spinning his empty mug around and around in his hands. “I'm sure you know what I do when I'm feeling down, I sit and listen to records all night. So. Just saying. If you ever want to, you know. You can come by anytime.”

“I really appreciate that,” Crowley said. He was so touched, he almost didn't get the next song on in time. “Do you want some coffee?” Roger nodded.

_We've been together for so long (listen, baby)_   
_I'm gonna love you, right or wrong,_   
_it lets me know_   
_that I love you so_   
_and I never, ever want to let you go_

Crowley cracked his neck and took both their mugs into the kitchen. It was a bit of an understatement to say he'd been dragging lately; if he wasn't at the radio station or in the studio, he was usually sleeping. He'd worked on a few small projects here and there since coming back from LA, but nothing that really caught his fancy.

_But you keep trying to make a fool of me_   
_Trying to make a fool of me_   
_Trying to make a fool of me_   
_Trying to make a fool of me_

He'd been through listless periods like this before; he chalked it up to being part of the whole “eternity” thing. Crowley's normal method of dealing with it was just to sleep for a few decades or so, but now he had commitments, and friends, and things he enjoyed doing, so that wasn't exactly going to work. Crowley thought about what might help him snap out of it. He hadn't seen Donna in a while; maybe it would be good to get over to Munich. And Jack had been asking him to come up to Manchester for months now, why not? He walked back into the living room and handed Roger his coffee.

“Thanks. I'm in the middle of reassembling a new transistor, so I think I'm gonna get back to that,” Roger said as he stood up.

“Thanks for checking on me,” Crowley mumbled.

Roger smiled at him warmly. “It's what mates do.” He padded down the hallway back into his room.

There was a record on the table four separate people had sent to him: Ten Percent, from a band called Double Exposure. Crowley shrugged and decided to put it on. Must be all right. He leaned into the microphone.

“This is a brand new record, gotten several copies of it in the mail in the last few weeks, so I'm putting it on for you this evening. This is Ten Percent, from Double Exposure, and you're listening to the home of Soul Over London, Radio Invicta.”

Crowley noticed the string lines, and the aggressive bass line, but what struck him most was how forward the hi-hat was in the mix. This was now a prominent feature in most of the music he received and listened to; he'd been there in Philadelphia several years ago, telling the drummer of the Blue Notes to go for it then. He liked it; he liked it a lot.

_Sing it, fellas,_   
_Ten percent of something (ten percent of that something)_   
_Ten percent of something_   
_It beats one hundred percent (whoa, baby)_   
_of nothing at all_

Crowley had been using music as a coping mechanism for a long fucking time, but even he was unprepared for how this song would sock him right in the gut. He put a hand over his mouth and stared down at the carpet.

Since the incident with Aziraphale, the two of them had fallen into some sort of holding pattern, while managing not to talk about exactly what happened that night. Crowley had stayed away for a few weeks before he got tired of receiving awkward messages from Aziraphale. No sense in dragging out the discomfort; it was pretty clear to Crowley what was going on. Aziraphale apparently desired him, but only in a casual, physical way. Unsuprisingly, the angel also had some serious hangups about the whole hooking-up-with-a-demon thing.

After one particularly strange phone conversation, Crowley decided enough was enough. He'd picked up a box of Aziraphale's favorite pastries and a very nice bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape as an olive branch. Crowley strutted into the bookshop with a good bit of liquid courage in him, put on a record, continued to drink himself silly, and somehow successfully pretended that they hadn't both come all over themselves on the sofa the last time he was there. Nothing physical happened that night, or the next time they were together a few weeks later.

About two months after that, it seemed as though things were going back to the way they had been for a couple thousand years. They had gone out to dinner, then for drinks, and then back to the bookshop. Aziraphale opened up a bottle of wine, then another, and before they knew it, they'd gone through a whole case. Crowley was enjoying himself more than he had in a while; he threw his head back to laugh at some silly thing Aziraphale said, and suddenly the angel was in his lap. Crowley was so startled, he'd spilled his wine all over the both of them.

“Ahh shit, I'm sorry,” he'd said against Aziraphale's plush, warm lips.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and they were both dry and clean. “Absolutely no problem, my dear.” Crowley's eyes went wide at the effortless affection. What the hell was this?

He fumbled for his words. “Wait, what happened to all that-” he gasped as Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair, “-all that 'we're going to have to be careful' business?”

“I never really got a chance to explain that part of it, Crowley,” Aziraphale said as he unbuttoned his high waisted trousers.

Crowley had no idea what was happening, and at this point, he didn't feel like asking. So he leaned back, allowed Aziraphale to take the lead, and followed along until the angel was crying out and spilling all over his hand.

Aziraphale caught his breath and pressed a quick kiss to Crowley's forehead. “Can I, are you...?” he'd asked while bringing his hand down between Crowley's legs.

“Oh, I'm quite all right,” Crowley said, quickly grabbing Aziraphale's hand and kissing it to distract from the fact that he was not even sporting an Effort at this point. Aziraphale had given him a strange look for a moment, then hopped right up to get them more alcohol.

It had only happened a few times in the past six months, and when it did, it always followed the same pattern: they both had to be _absolutely_ wasted, and Aziraphale would always initiate. So far, it hadn't seemed to affect the baseline of their friendship too much, and it didn't impact their Arrangement (not that either one of them had been really busy lately.)

Yeah, sure, he'd been in love with Aziraphale since practically the beginning of time, and he'd wanted him for almost as long, but wasn't this at least a bit better than before? He now knew Aziraphale found him at least somewhat attractive, which was a small boost to his ego. And Crowley was quickly learning how to satisfy him, which also felt pretty good. It was purely physical, Crowley reminded himself anytime he started to think too much. Whenever Aziraphale wanted it, he was happy to give it.

The main issue at this point was that anytime Aziraphale tried to reciprocate, Crowley went limp in his hands, or in his mouth, as had happened two nights ago. Crowley wasn't exactly sure what was going on; he had been able to have an occasional wank by himself with no problem. It really didn't matter to him whether he got off or not. He derived a lot more enjoyment from giving Aziraphale pleasure, getting him to make all those delightful sounds and moans, watching him come all over himself or into Crowley's hand. The whole thing was only upsetting because it seemed to be bothering Aziraphale quite a bit.

The angel was on his knees, looking demurely up at Crowley through those beautiful eyelashes. Crowley had been extraordinarily drunk, like usual. Right before Aziraphale had taken his cock out of his trousers, he'd been as hard as ever. And then, just like that, he went soft in Aziraphale's mouth. The disappointed look on his face was too much for Crowley to handle.

“Angel, get up here. Let me, uh, take care of you again.”

“Am I really that bad at this?” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

“No, no, you're terrific. I think that I,” Crowley reached for an excuse, “I think I had far too much to drink tonight.”

It was a shameless lie, and Aziraphale knew it. He climbed on the couch and sat with his hands in his lap before Crowley slowly moved closer and put an arm loosely over his shoulders. Aziraphale balanced his head on the ridge of Crowley's skinny shoulder, terrified to move any closer. Crowley held as still as he could.

“I'm really, absolutely smashed,” Crowley said softly into Aziraphale's hair, briefly flicking out his tongue to take in the absolutely heavenly scent coming off the top of his head. This was the sort of contact he truly craved, but it was unclear how Aziraphale felt about it.

“Me too,” Aziraphale said, as if either of them didn't have the power to sober up within a matter of seconds. He curled into Crowley and breathed in as much of him as he could. Then Aziraphale pretended to fall asleep, and Crowley didn't move for hours.

_It's better to have loved_   
_Than never to have loved at all_   
_(To have loved at all)_   
_I'm with you till the water runs up right down Niagara Falls, cause_   
_Ten percent of something (ten percent of that something)_   
_Ten percent of something_   
_It beats one hundred percent (whoa, baby)_   
_of nothing at all_

Hey, the logic was sound! Crowley bopped his head along; he was already in a better mood. He'd been around for a couple of thousand years and he'd be here until long after the end of the world. Whatever weird shit was happening with him and Aziraphale would eventually get worked out. Right?

 

* * *

 

Crowley made it home a bit after 1am; after his set, he'd taken some time to check out the transistor Roger was fixing. He didn't understand the first thing about it, but he was happy to share in the excitement. He kicked his boots off and picked up the phone. Since returning from LA, Crowley had a new routine: regular phone calls with Bob. It had started with Bob giving him his contact info when he was traveling and had quickly turned into a source of comfort for Crowley. They generally spoke about twice a week. Crowley loved it when they were able to talk for hours on end. Right now, Bob was at his place in New York; Crowley had the number memorized and dialed it.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi, it's your favorite DJ.” Crowley held back a giggle.

“Well, hello there, beautiful boy, how was your evening?”

“Not bad, considering I fell asleep on air.” He noticed a record mailer in the stack of papers sitting on his desk and started to open it up.

Bob clucked his tongue and let out a loud sigh. “ _Please_ tell me you've been eating.”

“Oh, come off it,” Crowley said. He pulled out the album to see it was another copy of Ten Percent by Double Exposure and he groaned. “How the fuck have I ended up with five copies of this?”

“Which one?”

“Since the beginning of June, I've gotten four copies of Ten Percent by Double Exposure, and another one today. But this one's different, it's marked as the Walter Gibbons remix, whatever that is.”

“Oh, haven't you heard? This is new,” Bob said. “This is the first 12” single for sale.”

“The first what?”

“Okay, so you've gotten singles that are marked for promotional use, right? The ones with one song per side?”

“Mmm. Yeah. I have.”

“Those haven't been available commercially before, they used to just be for DJs. What you got is the first one. God, everyone absolutely lost their shit on the dance floor when I heard it.”

Crowley turned the record over in his hands. “Wow, that's neat.”

“It's real big for the discos, people want to keep dancing and the 12” mixes are always longer.”

“Oh so it's like, just more disco, then?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Bob said. “Hey, all this talk makes me want to get you back out on the dance floor.”

Crowley smiled. “I could go for that.” They stayed on the phone for an hour or so, until Crowley finally admitted it was time for him to get some rest. He fell asleep on the sofa imagining himself in Bob's arms.

* * *

 

He woke up to the phone ringing; that had been happening a lot more often in the past few years. Crowley rolled off the sofa and picked it up. It was probably Aziraphale.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, uh, is this AJ Crowley?” The voice on the other end of the line sounded familiar, but Crowley couldn't immediately place it.

“Speaking, what can I do for you?”

“Hey, AJ, not sure if you remember me. It's Earl, Earl Young, from Philadelphia.”

“Earl Young, the drummer, right? You drum with the Blue Notes, don't you?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that's me.”

“Of course I remember you. Things seem to be going well your way, from what I hear.”

“I can't complain. Listen, this is sort of a big ask, but is there any chance you could come to Philadelphia?”

Crowley paused. “Uh, there isn't any reason I _couldn't_ come-”

“Could you come tomorrow?” Earl sounded desperate.

“What's going on?”

Earl sighed. “Not sure if you knew I've got my own band, we're called the Trammps. We're in the studio right now, trying to finish up this album, and it's just. I don't know, man. It's just not clicking.”

“All right.”

“Just heard, well, let's say I've heard some of the stuff you've done since we met.” Earl cleared his throat and continued. “And I've heard things, from people, and you were the first person I thought of to come in on this.”

“Well, I mean, I-” Crowley was still not used to the praise.

“Can you come? We can cover your travel, I've already got a hotel room booked, and we'll make sure to take real good care of you.”

Crowley looked around his flat. The plants and the records would be fine. “Sure thing. I'll get out as early as I can.”

“Seriously? Oh, thank you, AJ. Thank you so much for doing this. I'm real excited to work with you again.”

“Mmm, uhh, thanks for giving me something to do.” Crowley was surprised to hear Earl burst into laughter.

“You're never boring, AJ, I'll give you that.”

Crowley chuckled as he hung up the phone. He started packing by placing a smaller suitcase inside a larger one; he'd heard the record shops in Philadelphia were legendary and he needed to be prepared.

 

* * *

 

By the next morning, Crowley was all set and ready to go. He ripped a few dead leaves off the draecena and gave the rest of the plants a rather stern talking-to; he wasn't going to be around to threaten them for a while, so better make it count. The travel plans involved magic and not flying, so he could technically leave whenever he wanted. Crowley was about to click his heels (so to speak) and get gone, when he decided to call Aziraphale. Despite all all that had happened in the past year, they were still friends, and friends told each other when they were heading out of town. Best to lead by example, Crowley thought.

“Hello?”

“Hi Angel, it's me.”

“Oh, hello, Crowley. What are you getting up to later this evening? I was thinking about going to West End to see a show.”

Crowley's next sentence caught in his throat. If he weren't leaving, that's absolutely what he'd want to be doing tonight. “Well, I would, if I were around. I just, um. I wanted to let you know I'm going out of town for a bit.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale had that distinctly frosty tone he used when he wasn't pleased. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to Philadelphia.”

“And how long will you be gone?” Aziraphale asked.

“I'm not sure. You know how it is with, uh, assignments from below,” Crowley stammered his way through the white lie. Did Aziraphale really need to know he was going to work on a session? Probably not, since he probably didn't care.

“I see.”

“I'll uh, I'll come by when I'm back, yeah?”

“All right.”

“Right, well. I guess, um, I'll see you once I'm back in town then.” Crowley paused. “Who knows, maybe I'll find another giant bookmark for you.” That got a tiny chuckle out of Aziraphale, which helped tamp down Crowley's anxiety a bit.

“Do be careful,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Of course, Angel.” The endearment slipped out of his mouth before he could help it. Crowley set the phone down gingerly. Well, that was strange. Aziraphale had never been so invested in where he was going or what he was doing; they'd regularly spent hundreds of years without even speaking. But hey, everything between them had been awkward since December! No sense in worrying about it now. Crowley let out a sigh and willed himself across the Atlantic.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale squinted at the phone while finishing up his cup of tea. Crowley was heading off to the United States for the second time in six months. At least he'd called? Aziraphale was kicking himself yet again for skipping out on going to that party with Crowley; he didn’t have the information he needed and it was driving him batty. Crowley was not a hardworking, devoted soldier of Satan’s army; he was a poor excuse for a demon, which was just one of the reasons Aziraphale was so fond of him. The entire “let’s do each other’s jobs now and then” Arrangement idea came from Crowley, who never, _ever_ , wanted to work doing Hell’s business a moment more than necessary. Which meant that if Crowley was working this hard, it was something he _wanted_ to do. Aziraphale was starting to think that no part of the record producer thing was an assignment from Hell. He set down his mug, stood up, and ran his hands down his belly. It was time for him to learn more about Crowley's involvement in the music industry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I'm really trying to get across in this story is. well, a few things actually. I love how it's canon that Aziraphale and Crowley exist outside of concepts of gender, sexuality, etc. But any way you slice it, this is a queer love story. and it's important to me to clearly show the fact that queer relationships are often very much not *at all* like heterosexual relationships; they don't happen on the same timelines, they don't move at the same speed, and they definitely don't always follow analogous linear structures laid out in a lot of heteronormative culture. That being said, I love all the ways the Ineffable Spouses are being written. Just wanted to explain a bit. :) Ok. I'm sorry I made everyone cry. Please know that I cried too


	22. That Is When My Spark Got Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes back to Sigma Sound Studios in Philadelphia to work on a new album with the Trammps and Bob joins him for the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all thanks for following along! I updated the length again, haha. I just can't stop writing.

Saturday, June 18, 1976  
Sigma Sound Studios  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

 

Crowley walked back into Sigma and thought about everything that had happened since the last time he was here. It was hard to believe it had only been three years. He stood alone in the hallway for a minute, glancing at the records mounted on the wall. Eventually, he found a copy of Black and Blue hanging at the far end. Crowley scanned the notes until he saw his name, and then he strutted into the control room with a hell of a lot more confidence than he'd had the last time around.

“Well, look who the devil it is,” Earl said. He walked over to Crowley with a huge grin on his face. “Man, am I happy to see you.”

Crowley put a hand on Earl's shoulder and shook his hand firmly. “Hey, it's great to be back. Thanks for having me.” He saw two familiar faces in the control room. “Remind me your name,” he said to a Black man in a loose white button down shirt.

“I'm Ron, I play keyboards with MFSB. And with Earl here.” He had a broad, kind smile, a loose Afro, and a patchy beard. He extended his hand to Crowley.

“Ron, great to see you again.”

“And I'm Norman,” said the Black man to his left; he was wearing a kelly green blazer with a yellow shirt. “I helped start this whole thing, I do arrangements, I play, and I'm trying to produce here.” He had giant mutton chops and a sharp haircut.

“Norman,” Crowley stopped mid-handshake. “What's your last name?”

“Harris, I'm Norman Harris.”

“Ahh!” Crowley exclaimed. “I just picked up Armed and Extremely Dangerous on my last trip to America. Been playing it a lot. Your name's on a lot of my record collection these days.”

“Oh yeah?” Norman smiled and bit his lip. “Nice to know I still got fans.” They all laughed.

“Right, well, as I always say, I'm just here to help.” Crowley sat down. “So, talk to me. What's going on?”

Earl ran his fingers along the top of his forehead and twisted at the edges of his hair. He sighed. “I'm honestly not sure. We had a tape bust the other day, we lost an entire day's worth of music on there. And then, man, half the string section ended up with food poisoning three days ago. I feel like we're not getting the sound right, I don't know. It's a mess.”

Crowley nodded. “Do you have any keepers so far?”

“Yeah, I do, I'm just not sure we've got the sound right for the lead single.”

“Why don't you play me what you like best. Then we can go from there?” Crowley held his hands out and shrugged.

“Yeah, all right.” Earl got up and went to the board.

“Actually, Wait. Can you tell me where the phone is? I've got to make a quick call.”

Norman stood up. “You know the hallway you came in?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Norman gestured to his left. “Head down that hallway, then to the second door on your right. Phone's in the office.”

“Thanks, I'll be right back.”

Crowley quickly found the office, shut the door behind him, and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, yeah, Bob?”

“AJ? Hey you,” Bob said. “I'm getting ready to run out – is it okay if I call you back?”

“Uh, yeah, it is but, I'm actually in Philadelphia.” Crowley heard the sound of something crashing in the background.

“Shit! Hang on a sec.” Bob was muttering in the background for a few moments and then picked back up. “When did, how long have you been in Philly?”

“It was a last minute thing, I got called in on Friday. Just got here. I didn't know if you were around-”

“I can be there on Monday,” Bob said. “If this fucking session isn't done by then, I'm firing everyone. Including myself.” Crowley laughed. “Do you have a number for me? Where are you staying?”

“Um, I-” Crowley realized he didn't know, “-I don't actually know yet, but I'm recording at Sigma. I'll uh, I'll call back tonight?”

“The later the better; this session has been a nightmare, but I should be home by midnight at the latest.”

“All right,” Crowley said. “I'll talk to you later. Good luck.”

“Thanks, I'm gonna need it. Oh, AJ?”

“Yeah?”

“I can't wait to see you.” The sincerity of it took Crowley's breath away, and Bob had already hung up before he could respond.

Crowley hustled back into the live room with a bit more energy. “All right, sorry about that, everyone. Lay it on me.”

A peppy keyboard intro and some string and horn accents kicked off the next track, along with the prominent hi-hat Crowley had come to expect. He couldn't help bopping his head and tapping along on the console.

_Body contact contract_  
_Sign it!_  
_On the dotted line_

“I like it. What's working about this?” Crowley asked. He looked at Earl, then at Rob, and then at Norman, who shrugged.

“Uhh, I'm gonna let Earl talk about it.” Norman held his hands up. “I'm here to produce, but this is your band,” he said to Earl.

“The tempo's working,” Earl said. “It's gonna be good on the dance floor, I think it's exciting.”

Ron piped up. “I like the arrangement.”

“That's great. I love it. Good dancing tempo.”

“So what we gotta do is figure out how to get the lead single to the place where it really, you know,” Earl gestured with his hands, “where it really pops.”

Norman nodded. “I think we should listen to the first demo and then finish all the tracking by Friday.”

Earl queued it up; it was a loud and aggressive demo, the tempo was so fast Crowley could barely make out the words, but he thought he heard:

_To my surprise_  
_One hundred stories high_  
_People getting loose,_  
_They getting down on the roof_

They let it play out for a while; the bass was doing simple octaves, and the overall vibe was a bit too frantic. Still, Crowley could hear the shape of the song underneath. Earl eventually reached over and turned it off.

“I think you can get the idea from there,” Earl said.

“What's it called?” Crowley asked.

“Disco Inferno,” Ron said. Crowley looked over at him and nodded.

“Oh yeah. That's wicked. Did you write it?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, me and my friend Leroy wrote it.”

“It's real hot,” Norman said. “I definitely think that's going to be the lead single.”

Crowley took a second to read the energy between the musicians and honed in on Ron, who was looking down at the ground. “Hey Ron, what do you think, mate?”

Rob cleared his throat and looked at Earl, then at Norman. “Well, I uh, I sorta think it should be a bit slower. Like a bit more... maybe a bit more funky.”

Norman began nodding. “Huh, yeah. I could see that. What you think, Earl?”

“I think I'm down to try anything.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Ron and Jimmy around right now?” Norman asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Earl began twirling the edges of his hair again. “They're around.”

“Why don't you get them down here, we should all maybe just try a run through? We can see what Ron's thinking and then uh, maybe AJ can run the board and we see what we can get done tonight.”

“All right, yeah,” Crowley said. He look a look at the console; what used to be overwhelming was now familiar. He flipped up a few switches and spent a moment threatening the tape machine. Crowley had learned a long time ago that being in a studio was a lot of 'hurry up and wait.' After an hour or so, he decided to have a quick kip on the sofa; he dreamed of galaxies and stars until the rest of the band showed up to track the new demo.

 

* * *

 

Monday, June 20, 1976  
Maxine's  
Philadelphia

Bob had asked Crowley to meet him at a spot called Maxine's for dinner; he'd gotten a bit turned around on his way over but had eventually figured it out. He was a few minutes late, and tripped on his way in the door. He scanned the room until he saw Bob waving from a table in the corner.

Bob stood to greet Crowley. “Hello, beautiful boy. What a nice surprise, getting to see you.” He leaned over and gave Crowley a tender kiss before pulling his chair out for him. Crowley flushed a bit as he sat down. “So, how did you end up here?”

“Earl Young from The Trammps called me, he was desperate,” Crowley said. “And I didn't have anything else going on-”

“And you wanted to make my month.” Bob winked at Crowley as their waitress approached the table. “What do you want to drink?”

“Just a whisky on the rocks for me, please.”

“I'll have the same,” Bob said. The waitress nodded and left. When Crowley looked up from the menu, he felt the heat of Bob's intense stare on him. Bob's mouth curved up into the lopsided smile that made Crowley go a little soft in his limbs.

“How are things in London?”

“I guess they're all right, yeah. Not much to report, honestly. Not since we talked, at least.” Crowley set his glass down and Bob reached across the table to take his hand.

“How are things with your partner?” Bob asked, entwining his fingers with Crowley's.

“Honestly? Weird?”

“Weird? How so?”

“It's just, things have gotten real weird. I don't know if I totally understand anything that's going on between us.” Crowley reached for his whisky again and threw back the last of it.

Bob frowned. “I'm sorry to hear that.” As always, he was so tuned in to Crowley, gently stroking his hand with the back of his thumb until he was ready to speak.

Crowley shrugged and sighed. “What about James? How's he doing?”

“James just got a promotion. It's great for him, but I haven't seen him in a month,” Bob said. “Work is kicking both our asses lately.” Crowley nodded.

The food arrived, along with another round of whisky. Crowley picked at an overdone chicken breast for a while as Bob tucked in and told him all about the session he was doing, another one for Frankie Valli. It was his first solo album and as such, he was a bit touchy about the whole thing.

“Yeah, that guy, he sure was something.” Crowley laughed.

“I did think of you while working on it.”

“Oh, that so?”

“Yep. Might have worked a lyric in there for you. Guess you'll just have to wait and see.” Bob winked at him over his glass. Crowley couldn't stop the corner of his lip turning up into a smile. He met Bob's gaze over the table and felt a rush of warmth flooding his chest. Someone had begun to play at the upright piano that was tucked back in the corner.

“All right, everbody, I'm Jim, and I'm gonna be entertaining you until midnight. Eddie requested this one, so here we go.”

_If a custom-tailored vet_  
_Asks me out for something wet_  
_When the vet begins to pet, I cry "hooray!"_  
_But I'm always true to you, darlin', in my fashion_  
_Yes, I'm always true to you, darlin', in my way_

“Oh, I've always loved Cole Porter.” Bob looked fondly at Jim as he sang. He reached out and took Crowley's hand in between both of his. They stayed at Maxine's drinking and chatting until Jim had finished out the night, leaving only after being herded out with all the other patrons.

They walked out of the club hand in hand, then Bob turned around to face him. “It's been a wonderful evening, AJ. I'll see you tomorrow, then?”

“My hotel is just up the street,” Crowley said, gently tugging on Bob's hand.

“It's... all right if I stay with you?” Bob asked. “I didn't want to assume.”

“I was hoping you would,” Crowley was feeling bold from all the alcohol and a few months' worth of sexual exploration; he slipped his arms around Bob and let his hands fall to the curve of his lower back.

“Oh!” Bob looked down at him. “Well, that's nice. Twist my arm, why don't you.”

“Shall we?” Crowley tipped his head in the direction of the hotel, and they walked up the street hand in hand.

* * *

 

The energy this time was different; Crowley had noticed Bob's eyes (and hands) on him all night and instead of feeling anxious, he was hungry. He flung the door open to his hotel room and they barely made it in before Bob began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Can I?” he asked before just going ahead and slamming the lights off. He reached out for Crowley in the dark and pulled him close.

“Hang on, hang on.” Crowley took his hand and led them to the bed. He took his sunglasses off and fumbled around in the dark for the nightstand. “Okay, I'm good,” he said after he set them safely aside. He felt the mattress dip as Bob crawled across it.

“Where are you?” Bob asked as he accidentally elbowed Crowley in the thigh. “Ah, I'm sorry!”

“It's okay, I'm here,” Crowley said as he reached his hands out and pulled Bob on top of him.

“Can you please,” Bob's hands were roaming over his chest and Crowley's nipples perked up under the attention, “take this shirt off?”

“Yeah.” Crowley fumbled for the buttons and finally peeled himself out of his black shirt. Bob moaned as Crowley brought his hands back up around his neck; he lowered himself down onto Crowley and began kissing him hungrily. Crowley felt Bob hard and hot against him, hard _for_ him. The thought gave him a little boost of confidence. He put his hands on Bob's hips and wordlessly encouraged him to roll them against his own.

“Oh, AJ.” Bob breathed against his collarbone. “You've really got me going right now. You're so gorgeous. I missed you.” He was balancing his weight mostly on his right arm, using his left arm to run his hand lazily through Crowley's hair and down his chest. Crowley felt his body undulating a bit under the contact; some habits from his serpent days were harder to break than others. “And god – the way you move.” Bob reached down and Crowley heard him fumbling with his belt. “Is it okay if I get out of these?” he asked.

“Yes, it is,” Crowley said. He slowly reached his hand down to rest over Bob's. “Is it okay if I help you?”

“Yes, oh god, yes.” Bob rolled over so they were both on their sides and began undoing his belt. Crowley may or may not have used a small bit of demonic magic to deal with the zipper. Bob slid out of his pants and guided Crowley's hand down over where his cock was straining through his underwear. “AJ, ahh – _fuck_ , that feels good,” Bob said as Crowley ran his hand over the outline of his cock, feeling the shape and heft of it through the fabric. He reached out for Crowley's belt and Crowley briefly froze.

“Let me, uh,” Crowley stammered.

Bob stopped and immediately took his hands off Crowley. “What, what do you want? Just tell me what's okay.”

“I just want to,” Crowley struggled to say it, “Just let me... let me touch you.”

“Okay, I'd like that,” Bob reached over and put a hand on the curve of Crowley's hip. “Do you want to be touched?”

“No,” Crowley blurted out. He couldn't totally explain why; he just didn't want that.

“Okay, all right, whatever you want.” Bob scooted his body over to press against Crowley's and gave him a slow and deep kiss, his tongue lazily exploring the inside of Crowley's mouth. “Thank you for telling me.” Crowley could only hum in response. He was feeling so good, really he was; he just didn't want to make an Effort and he didn't want to be touched.

“Is that okay? If I just, uh, give you pleasure?” Crowley asked hesitantly.

“Of course!” Bob kissed him. “Do you want me to show you, _ah_!" he cried out as Crowley's long fingers slipped down below the elastic of his underwear, “to show you what I like?”

“Please,” Crowley said as he moved closer. He found a nice spot at the base of Bob's neck and sucked on it while Bob took off his underwear. Suddenly, his hand was atop Bob's cock, and then Bob's hand was over his. Bob curled his fingers around Crowley's and began doing slow strokes over himself.

“Wow, AJ,” Bob said against his neck. “Love feeling your hands on me, feels so good.” Spurred on by the praise, Crowley tightened his grip a bit and began moving a bit faster. Bob took his other hand and reached behind Crowley. He ran his hand down to the small of his back and splayed his fingers out, exploring the base of Crowley's spine. “It's okay if you don't – but I have to ask, can I please touch your ass? I've been dying to.”

“Uhh, sure?” Crowley wasn't entirely sure what Bob meant until his hand slipped below his trousers and onto his bare skin. Bob groaned as he sank his hands into the flesh of Crowley's cheek.

“Your body, AJ, god, your body. Hang on, I just need a bit more-” Bob pulled Crowley's hand up, spit into it, and brought it back down onto his cock. “I didn't bring any lube with me.” He laughed a bit. “Didn't want to assume anything.” Bob took Crowley's finger and traced it over the slit of his cock. Crowley made a small humming noise as he felt Bob leaking onto his finger. He was doing this to someone, _for_ someone. Bob was feeling a lot of pleasure because of him. Crowley brought his hand back up to Bob's cock and worked him by himself as Bob kneaded and grabbed his arse with both hands, grinding up against him as he did so.

“Are you feeling good?” It came out in that low, throaty voice Crowley had a hard time recognizing as his own. He liked it.

“Oh god, I'm feeling so good, AJ, you're so fucking hot,” Bob babbled. He reached up to hold Crowley's hand still, and for a moment, Crowley thought he'd done something wrong. Then Bob cupped his hand around Crowley's and began thrusting his cock upwards into it. Crowley decided just a tiny bit of extra lubrication wouldn't hurt anyone; besides, it made all the noises that much more fun.

“Do you like that?” Crowley asked. He made a few experimental bites along Bob's collarbone and neck, trying to find the spot that would send him over the edge. “I like having you like this,” he said as Bob's thrusts upward into his hand increased in speed and intensity. Bob was moaning loudly now, loud 'ah-ah-ah-ah's each time the head of his cock passed through Crowley's hand. Crowley brought a hand up and gently twisted Bob's nipple; he felt the shudder that ran through his entire body.

“Oh, I've found something else you like,” Crowley growled, surprising himself. Did he growl? Was this a thing he did now? He ducked his head down and sucked on Bob's nipple, feeling it perk up under his attention.

“Fuck!” Bob wailed. “Don't stop, AJ, please, don't stop, feel so good, you feel so-” Crowley bit him on the chest and then took his nipple into his mouth, running the edges of his teeth over it just so, and he felt the moment Bob's thighs began shaking. “Oh – god!” He screamed directly into Crowley's ear as he came, spurting warmth over Crowley's hand and onto his abdomen. Crowley stroked him through it, murmuring in his ear as Bob rode it out.

“Yessss.” Crowley was too high on the experience to fully control his sibilance and he hissed just the tiniest bit. Bob was mouthing sloppy kisses along his neck and chest, still crying out the occasional 'ah!'

“Oh my god, oh my _god_ , I came so hard.” Bob was clutching him close, and as he ran his sweaty hands all over Crowley, he could feel the tracks of where Bob had scratched down his back. That was new. It felt odd; it stung a bit, but he liked the idea of making someone lose control; how good would one have to feel in order to scratch another person up like that? Crowley wasn't sure if he wanted to find out for himself, but he enjoyed being on the receiving end of it.

“Was it okay?” Crowley asked softly.

“Was it _okay_? Jesus Christ, I thought I was going to pass out.” Bob firmly gripped the back of Crowley's neck and laid a kiss on him that resonated through the room with an audible smack. “You're so fucking hot, god, I'm so lucky.” He fell back on the bed and began laughing. “I can't believe it.”

Crowley slipped his arm around Bob, who was still attempting to catch his breath, and let his head fall on the pillow.

“Wait, wait! Are you sure I can't do anything for you? I feel so selfish,” Bob panted.

“It's really all right,” Crowley said. “I... I like doing this for you.”

“Yeah, well, _obviously_ , I mean god, it felt amazing, I just want,” Bob reached up his hand and pulled Crowley down into another messy kiss, “I'd love to be able to make you feel good too.”

Crowley really didn't understand the fuss Bob was making about wanting to reciprocate; giving pleasure came naturally to him and he was enjoying himself. As long as he was in control of the situation, he was fine. It was when he thought about the first time he and Aziraphale had hooked up that he got uncomfortable. He hadn't known what was happening; he'd totally lost himself in a hurried orgasm and then things had all gone to shit. Crowley wasn't prepared to have that happen with another person just yet, especially not Bob. He didn't want to ruin everything here, too.

“Bob, it's, I don't know. I can't totally explain it. I'm sorry.”

Bob cleared his throat. “Don't apologize, don't apologize. I'd love to make you feel good if that's what you want,” he continued, “but if you're happy, then I'm happy.”

“Oh, that I am.” Crowley rolled over to face Bob.

“Come here, get all tangled up in me.” Bob slipped a leg over Crowley and an arm underneath him. Crowley let out a soft sigh. “This is one of my favorite parts.” Bob ran his hand through Crowley's hair and pressed a couple of kisses to his cheek. “You're so amazing.” Crowley hummed as Bob pressed his entire body up against his. He was warm, and he smelled good, and he was so...

“You're so good to me,” Crowley whispered.

“Want to be good to you.” Bob put his chin overtop Crowley's head and folded his arm around him. He was so comforted by Bob wrapping around him like a vine and rubbing little circles on his back that, for the first time since sharing a bed with anyone, he fell asleep first.

  __

* * *

 

Thursday, June 23, 1976  
Sigma Studios

It had been a long week; Crowley hadn't realized how many bands the members of the Trammps were also in. Between Norman being called off to finish out production work, and Earl and Ron being asked to fill in with MFSB, the main challenge had been making sure all the Trammps were in the same room to do the recording. They'd been delayed on Tuesday and Wednesday for another session, and everyone was a bit on edge. His time with Bob had been a wonderful distraction. They took Earl and Norman's suggestions for some daytime activities and ended up at a restaurant owned by a friend of theirs. Bob insisted on taking Crowley dancing and that was a great time; Crowley had sidled up to the DJ and written down everything he played. The last two nights had gone about the same as Monday; Bob ended up a sweaty, naked mess in Crowley's arms, and then cuddled around him as he fell asleep.

Crowley hummed to himself as he finished making some coffee. He wandered back into the control room and caught the last bit of a heated discussion between Earl and Norman.

“How in the hell are we gonna do that? Everybody's busy and we're over time as it is,” Earl said.

Norman bent over and groaned. “You gotta trust me on this one. We have to cut it live with the strings and all, I know it's a pain in the ass-”

“And when are we gonna do that?” Earl asked.

“I think it's gonna have to be tonight at midnight,” Norman said. “That other session finishes up at 10pm and we have some time to get them in here. We're just gonna have to do it like that.”

Ron cleared his throat. “I really think we can do this. We ran the song a bunch this week. All we have to do is get the take.”

Earl sighed. “All right. You're right, you're right. If we don't get this done this week, the whole timeline falls apart. Not to mention we all have to work on a new gig starting on Wednesday.”

“Yeah,” Norman said. “So let's break for now, everyone get yourself something to eat, or just relax for a while. Earl, you call the guys, and I'll get the strings set up.”

“Okay.” Earl said. He looked up at the clock and then turned to Crowley. “Hey AJ, you DJ in London, don't you?”

“Yeah, it's not that big of a thing,” Crowley said. “Just something I enjoy doing.”

“Hmm.” Earl cocked his head. “Do you wanna go buy some records?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Crowley grabbed his bag and the two of them headed out to dig through record crates for a while.

* * *

 

It was around 11:15 when the musicians started pouring into the live room; Crowley had never seen a group of grumpier looking folks. He recognized many faces from the Blue Notes session, but everyone looked really tired. Crowley poked his head into the live room and pointed in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Anybody want coffee? I’m putting a pot on.”

The response was a symphony of affirmative murmurs. Crowley headed into the kitchen and brewed up one, then two, then three pots of coffee; he passed out the styrofoam cups with dramatic flair and just a touch of demonic influence. Right around midnight, the mood of the room shifted, and Crowley felt something building there. It was indulgent and a bit sinful, on the edge of wickedness but not quite there. Crowley started stirring that feeling in the air up just a touch to see what would happen.

By the time everyone was seated and checked and ready to go, it was almost 1am. Norman walked in the control room; he looked exhausted.

“Hey, you think you’re ready to go here?” he asked Crowley.

“Yeah, mate, I’m all set. I think it’s gonna be great,” Crowley said.

“All right.” Norman let out a long breath. “I guess it’s time.”

“You got this,” Crowley said, putting a hand on Norman’s shoulder. “Just signal me if you need anything, all right?”

Norman walked into the live room and took his place behind the keyboard. Crowley watched as he and Earl began trying to find the tempo.

“All right, lets roll,” Norman said into his mic. Crowley hit record, Earl counted off, and then everyone in the room joined in on a descending bass line Ron had worked into the start of the song. It wasn’t long before Earl was riding the hi-hat that he’d made popular; a slick hit on the 'and' in between each beat that drove the entire song forward. Ron had changed the bass line since the first demo, it was now on more of a riff and the strings and horns followed behind.

_Burn, baby, burn!_  
_Burn, baby, burn!_  
_Burn, baby, burn!_  
_Burn, baby, burn!_

They’d changed the structure a bit to start with the chorus; an excellent decision from Crowley's perspective. He watched as the lead vocalist, Jimmy, adjusted his headphones and stepped closer to the mic to sing. Norman was bopping his head as he rode the keyboard riffs with the bass. After the first chorus, Earl looked up to the control room window. Crowley flashed two thumbs up to everyone, and while he was at it, went ahead and made sure that this take would be the one. It had been such a struggle to get everyone in here, and he really wanted it to be a success for Earl and the Trammps. He closed his eyes and focused on the room. Everyone was tired; he could feel it. They just needed a little bit of a push to make it through.

J _ust can't stop_  
_When my spark gets hot_  
_Just can't stop_  
_When my spark gets hot_

Crowley imagined the sort of song that would make you want to keep dancing; a song that would get you up and going, even if you were exhausted. An energy exchange where the more you gave, the more you got. Crowley imagined himself on the dance floor, with a giant mirror ball overhead, surrounded by the heat of people caught up in the moment. He tapped his fingers on the console in time. What would it be like to allow one's self to catch fire to a song like this? To totally let loose, to be taken over, to fully give in to the moment. For all the tempting he'd done in his existence, he'd always been a cautious demon. Crowley's thoughts wandered to the first time Aziraphale had pounced on him. What would happen if he came up with the courage to try something like that? Might it move things in a different direction?

“I wonder if you understand what I'm talking about, I'm not talking about burning down a building,” Jimmy started to ad lib into the mic, speaking first and then singing.

_It's coming from the soul,_  
_I just can't stop,_  
_Soul fire! (when my spark gets hot)_  
_Burning in my soul,_  
_(just can't stop)_  
_mmm, yow!_  
_(when my spark gets hot)_

Crowley glanced up at the tape; there was definitely enough time to capture this. Earl was sweating, Norman was cutting loose on the keyboard in a smooth solo. Ron had been playing the same riff for basically the entire song but showed no sign of slowing down or losing enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to be in a trance, caught up in the feedback loop of the room. He couldn’t help but think of Principality Aziraphale, capable of extending time with a series of well-placed minor miracles; stretching out afternoon tea into dinner, dessert into drinks, days into evenings. Crowley sighed. There really wasn't a time he wasn't thinking about Aziraphale during a session, despite the incredible few days he'd just had with Bob. Norman stood up for a second and pointed to the string players, who picked up their instruments. He directed them in and pulled the group back to the intro riff and chorus to close out the song. Norman let the guitar player rip on a short solo before raising his hands and signaling everyone to stop. Earl stepped out from behind the drums; he was covered in sweat. Ron looked absolutely elated, and all the string players looked far less grumpy than they had a few hours ago.

It didn't take long for everyone but Earl and Norman to clear out. Crowley was stretching out his legs when Earl came into the control room and flopped face first down on the sofa. “Damn, I'm tired,” he said into the cushion.

“Get on up here.” Norman flicked him in the back of the calf. “AJ, thanks for running the board. It really made a difference to be able to be in the room.” Crowley shook his hand.

“My pleasure, really. It sounded great in here, just great,” Crowley said. “I know it's gonna be a hit.”

Earl rolled off the sofa and slowly stood up. “AJ, thanks for being here.”

Crowley shrugged. “Hey, thanks for getting me out of the house.”

Earl laughed. “You got good taste, I should come to London sometime and listen to your show.”

“Anytime you want. I'm always playing that sound of Philadelphia, people can't get enough of it.”

“Oh, AJ, before you take off...” Norman pulled out a box from underneath the console. “I wanted to give you something.” He grunted as he hoisted it up onto the chair. “This is from all of us here, it's our favorite records from a lot of the stuff we've done at Sigma. Thought you might want to take it back to London and make sure you continue showing us off, you know?” Crowley was speechless as he peered into the box. It was stuffed with albums and singles, and he was overjoyed.

“This is... this is really too much,” Crowley said. “I can't-”

Norman laughed. “You can, and you will. Keep tellin' the world about the sound of Philadelphia.”

“And let's get you a cab back to your hotel because, that's a heavy box,” Earl said. Crowley clutched the box of records to his chest as the precious cargo it was. 

* * *

 

Crowley stumbled into the hotel room and set down the records next to the door. Bob got up from the desk and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. Crowley was a bit surprised at how comfortable the past few days had been; it was nice to finish up a work day and have someone there to talk to, to eat with, just having someone there. He enjoyed it; of course, he liked talking to his plants, too, but it wasn't quite as much fun drinking with them.

“How'd it go? Oh,” Bob looked down and saw the giant box of records. “I guess it must have been pretty great if you got to go record shopping again.”

“Norman gave all these to me!” Crowley exclaimed. “An entire box of the best of Philadelphia. Have no idea how I'm gonna get it home, but...” Bob turned Crowley to face him and ran his hands slowly down the outside of Crowley's arms.

“Hey. What are you up to this weekend?” One corner of Bob's mouth was raised into a sly smile.

“Well, I was gonna head home tomorrow-”

“Can I make an alternate suggestion?”

Crowley cocked his head. “Sure?”

“I don't want you to go home yet.” Bob pulled him closer and slung his arms around Crowley's waist.  
“Come to San Francisco with me,” he said breathlessly. “Saturday is Gay Freedom Day. It's huge, people – our people – are gonna be there from all over the country, all over the world. Please, come with me?”

Crowley attempted to stutter out an excuse, “I really, I'm not – I've got all these records with me-”

“We can mail them out first thing tomorrow morning.”

“How are we gonna get there?” Crowley asked.

“AJ, we don't even have to pay for tickets. I can use passes from James. First class. Come with me.”  
Crowley crossed his arms. Bob laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I'm not above begging, but, if you've got to get back-”

Why shouldn't he go and enjoy himself? He didn't have anything going on back home that couldn't wait a few extra days. “All right. Okay, yeah. Sure.” Crowley rolled the words over in his mouth and then repeated himself. “Yeah. Okay, yeah, I'll go with you.”

“Yes!” Bob raised his fists to the sky in celebration and then kissed him fiercely. “Oh, you. You absolutely beautiful boy. I'm going to show you such a good time.”

Crowley held up a hand. “Well. I want to go, but--”

Bob's face fell. “But?”

“I just, uh, need to make a few phone calls. I wasn't, um, I wasn't planning on being gone this long, and I probably need to get someone over to the flat, you know, to check on the plants, and maybe I might have to have Jack cover my DJ shift for me,” he was babbling now, but Bob didn't seem to mind; he had his hands wrapped around Crowley's shoulders, and damn, if that didn't feel nice. All of it was true, he needed to check on a few things. And, of course, he'd need to call Aziraphale. Crowley felt a nervous flutter in his chest at the thought. Or was it excitement and perhaps a bit of anxiety at the trip he'd just agreed to? He sucked in a deep breath; how the hell was it possible for Bob to always, always smell so good?

“All right.” Bob kissed him on the forehead, then on the cheek, and then slipped his fingers down to touch the exposed skin of Crowley's throat. “Can the phone calls wait until the morning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO there may be some historical inaccuracies here just because Philadelphia's center city core was apparently a bit rough in the 1970's. But we are doing what we can over here. Enjoy! I would have loved to have put a cameo of Sylvester Stallone filming Rocky here, but alas, filming for Rocky didn't start until the end of July in 1976!! Ha!
> 
> https://www.phillymag.com/news/2014/07/25/growing-up-philadelphia-lost-city/


	23. Stop, Look, Listen To Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's Aziraphale getting up to in London while Crowley extends his trip in the United States?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! I have a lot going on this week and company coming into town so I'm hoping to get Crowley's Gay Pride Adventure up before all that happens but I can't make any promises. life is busy... life-ing. But thank you all for staying tuned and I'm doing my best to make it all happen for you in a timely fashion. <3

Friday, 24 June 1976  
The Bookshop  
Soho, London

“Hello, and thank you for calling.” Aziraphale tried his best to answer the phone politely during business hours.

“Ah, well, you're welcome, Angel.” Crowley laughed.

“Hello, Crowley.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “All is well? Are you back, then?”

“No, still in Philadelphia.”

“How is everything going with your assignment?”

“Not too bad, temptation, chaos, all in a day's work, really,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale, who had managed to obtain several dozen copies of Billboard magazine in the past week, knew this was a lie, but found it amusing. “Well, I guess you're up to no good then, as per usual.” There was no bite in his tone; only fondness.

“You know me, demon, and all. Listen, I'm going to be gone a bit longer than I thought.” Crowley waited for a response, and then continued on through the awkward silence. “And... I just wanted to let you know.”

“Right. Well. Would you, ah,” Aziraphale felt the need to cover his disappointment; he decided to offer something to Crowley. “Do you need me to have a look in on your flat or, the Bentley, or... anything? While you're away, that is?”

Crowley paused. “Yeah, you know, that would be good, actually. You want to walk by and make sure she's all right?”

"She?"

"The Bentley," Crowley clarified. 

“All right, I'd be happy to do that for you.”

“Yeah, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind at all.” Aziraphale missed Crowley – how he missed him.

Crowley was a bit disarmed by Aziraphale's agreeableness and took a beat to gather himself up to respond. “Oh. All right. Well. I appreciate it.”

“You can always, you know. You can call if you need anything else. Or, just.” Aziraphale struggled to spit the sentence out; it felt as though his tongue had been coated with cotton.

Crowley was alone in his hotel room and glanced over at the box of records he'd been given and the stack he'd purchased. Hmm. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“Not particularly.” Aziraphale did a quick glance around the shop. “I don't think anyone's in here right now. Why do you ask?”

“I uh, I ended up with a lot of records this time around. Maybe we could try that thing? I could send them over to you now, if you're amenable.”

“Oh.” They'd only tried this a handful of times over the years, but it had always been successful. “I'm just at my desk, if you'd like to give it a try.”

“All right. Let's try it.”

Crowley closed his eyes in Philadelphia; Aziraphale did the same in London. Crowley made a small grunting noise and Aziraphale became aware of the weight and heft of the physical matter coming his way. He scooted back his chair a bit, felt a tingle in his hands, and then looked down to see a cardboard box full of records and a suitcase next to his feet.

“Oh! I think – it appears as though everything arrived in good condition. It's a large box?”

“Yep, there's the box and then-”

“And a blue suitcase?”

“That's full of records, too.” Crowley chuckled. “I guess you could say I'm becoming a bit of a collector.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Perhaps you can swing by and share some of your favorites with me once you're back in town?” he said hesitantly.

Crowley nearly dropped the phone. “Course, of course. But feel free to go through them if you want. Maybe you'll find something to,” he took a breath, “to show me. Once I'm back.”

“Well, uh,” Aziraphale wanted to tell Crowley he missed him. Should he tell him that? Would he think it strange? “I'll certainly look forward to seeing you. There's a new restaurant that opened up down the street. I was going to give it a try, but I figured I would – that it might just be best to go with someone, that is, if you wanted to. I heard the cocktails are-”

“Sounds like a plan, Angel.” Crowley mercifully cut off Aziraphale's babbling; the word 'angel' sounded different coming from his mouth these days, coming across as less of an identifier and more of an endearment. Had it always been like this?

Aziraphale hung up the phone and fidgeted a bit. He’d always found Crowley’s low, rumbly voice exciting; since they’d become... (What was happening between them exactly?), the effects had become more pronounced. It sounded like Crowley was doing quite all right on his trip, perhaps once he was back, it would be a good time to take him out somewhere nice and try to sort it all out. It wasn’t going wrong, per se, but in Aziraphale’s eyes, it wasn’t exactly going right either. Maybe he could muster up the courage and find the exact words to get it all sorted while Crowley was away.

* * *

 

Saturday, 25 June, 1976

Aziraphale loved few things more than sitting in the shop and reading through the wee hours of the night. He had been flipping through copies of Billboard for hours on end, scanning for Crowley's name, which appeared fairly often. Some of the band names even Aziraphale recognized, though many of them he didn't. AJ Crowley, producer. AJ Crowley, engineer. AJ Crowley, songwriter. Aziraphale carefully wrote down the name of each album with Crowley's name beside it, and dog eared each page that mentioned Crowley. There was even a quote: “I view my role as less of a producer, more of a facilitator. Whatever the musicians want, I want to help them get there.”

Before being assigned to Earth (well, actually, he had volunteered, but that's a longer story), Aziraphale had been in charge of compiling the information. Aziraphale's habit for collecting things started with knowledge; once the printing press had been in existence for a while and books weren't so difficult to come by, owning a bookshop seemed like the most logical step. He loved it. And he'd turned that love of knowing onto Crowley, of course, since Crowley was the one constant in his existence. Aziraphale had an entire hoard of Crowley-centric knowledge that he guarded fiercely. He kept most of it locked up to memory; Crowley's favorite wine, Crowley's favorite coffee shop, Crowley's favorite bread to feed the ducks, Crowley's favorite bench in the park. All kept close to him at all times. He also had books on demons and the like, but now? To see Crowley's name in print in magazines and on the backs of records? This was a new phase in terms of gathering information, and Aziraphale was thrilled.

The sun was up; Aziraphale looked out the window and guessed it was sometime in the afternoon. He stood to stretch and make some tea and nearly tripped over the cardboard box full of records in the process. Perhaps he could go ahead and put one on, just to see if there was anything he liked that he could share with Crowley later on. Aziraphale grabbed the first one off the top and plopped it on the turntable with a flourish. The music was a lot softer than Aziraphale expected; it started with woodwind instruments, the gentle plucking of a harp, a tinkling glockenspiel, along with the strings he so loved.

 _You're alone, all the time_  
_Does it ever puzzle you, have you asked why?_

Aziraphale stopped and turned to face the speaker. It wasn't often that a good song felt like a slap in the face and yet, here he was. Seemed to be happening so often these days. He’d always preferred human music without words, until now.

 _Why fool yourself_  
_Don't be afraid to help yourself_  
_It's never too late, too late to_  
_stop, look, listen to your heart,_  
_hear what it's saying_

Aziraphale was stunned; he was responsible for the phrase “listen to your heart.” He had whispered it long ago to a sweet and devoted young woman who was attempting to enter a convent for entirely the wrong reasons. He had taken one look at her and he knew - he just _knew_ - she needed to be sent down another path; he'd thought the phrase was a lovely way to imply that the wisdom of God lies within us, as we are created in Her image, and well, it made quite a bit of sense to him at the time. Heaven wasn't too pleased with it; he'd received quite the talking-to and oh, how Sandalphon and Gabriel had laughed. They'd proceeded to mock him for at least a thousand years straight. Aziraphale huffed. He was surprised that it still bothered him, all these years later.

 _listen to your heart,_  
_hear what it's saying_  
_love, love, love_

Wasn't that the entire point? Aziraphale had only ever spoken to God herself on a few occasions, none of them one-on-one, but he'd been under the impression for most of his existence that “love” was one of the main points of the entire experiment. It was a word God used when speaking about humanity, whether Her actions always seemed to align with that was another matter, but Aziraphale always tried to do his best to follow Her wisdom, Her plan. He saw love all over it, he always had.

_love, love, love_

The music swelled and shifted, and Aziraphale felt his emotions toppling over inside him. He stood up, shook out his hands, and headed out the door. He left the bookshop, but the music followed him, stayed with him, walked beside him. He stopped a few blocks over and shook his head. Maybe he was finally losing his marbles.

“I can still hear the music,” Aziraphale muttered to himself. “How can I still hear the music?”

All around him, Aziraphale was aware of people in need of blessings, miracles, mercy. He brushed his hands down his chest, then closed his eyes and stood perfectly still on a street corner, using a small bit of magic to ensure invisibility as he attuned himself. Aziraphale was a Principality, a high ranking angel, and working miracles was always easy, routine. Blessings and mercy almost came without effort, almost like he'd heard humans describe breathing. So he wiggled his fingers, extended his arms, and let the miracles slip on out without a second thought. As he worked, he saw glimpses of the people receiving his blessings; people of all races, all ages, people in posh rooms and people in humble surroundings. Aziraphale let himself go, let himself do the work he came to Earth to do. By the time he was done, the sun was significantly lower in the sky, and he found himself a bit edgy.

Aziraphale decided a walk was in order, and as he wandered, he decided to head by Crowley's flat to check on the Bentley. To his relief, she was in excellent shape, parked in the usual spot where Crowley could look down and see her from his window. Then he made it to the edge of Hyde Park, and kept going. He walked, and he walked, he meandered through Kensington until the sun set, then headed south, and stopped only when he felt absolutely inspired to. (Taking his own advice to 'listen to your heart.') He stumbled into a very small and very dark pub, nearly tripping on a ratty rug on his way in the door. Aziraphale took one look at the place and found comfort in the fact that he knew he'd found his way to a gay establishment. He sat down; the bartender nodded and placed a napkin in front of him.

“What can I get for you?”

“What do you have in the way of wine?” he asked.

The bartender chuckled a bit. “I've got a red, and I've got a white.”

“I'll have the red,” Aziraphale said. Well, it was hardly an epicurian establishment, but he felt comfortable in the space, and it was good to get out of the shop. He tried making small talk with the bartender, but the pub soon began to fill up and his attempts at conversation became distracting rather than friendly. Aziraphale drank alone, sometimes, but most often he drank with Crowley. Now here he was, drinking alone, but surrounded by people. If he was honest with himself, it felt pretty lousy.

Aziraphale was almost done with his glass of wine and was thinking about leaving when he saw something that made him stay. Two men walked into the bar clad in leather from head to toe; a tall muscular man with long, wavy, raven-black hair and freckled brown skin that showed through his open vest. He was followed by a shorter blond man with a broad, stout body and a ginger beard. But it wasn’t just their outfits that caught Aziraphale's eye. It was the chain that the man in front held, which attached to a collar around the other man’s neck. He instructed the blond man to sit, and he sank to the floor and landed on his knees. He wrapped both arms around his partner’s leg and leaned against his calf with his eyes closed and a blissed-out look on his face. The entire scene was too much for Aziraphale; beads of sweat suddenly appeared on his forehead and he dabbed them away with his handkerchief. He hadn’t used a frivolous miracle for his own benefit all day, which was quite an accomplishment. No harm in a little indulgence for one's self every now and again. Aziraphale reached inside his coat pocket and snapped his fingers, giving himself just a bit of cover so he could watch them without being seen. The man sitting on the chair reached down and carded his fingers through the blond’s hair. He touched him gently, reverently; despite the intimidating leather gear, it didn't look scary. There was clearly something being exchanged between the two men, something that felt powerful, sacred, and profane.

Aziraphale flushed as he remembered an incident that occurred during the Spanish Inquisition; it was such an awful, horrid time. The evil was so powerful and so disturbing that it was hard for Aziraphale to even get to the place. His angelic nature sensed something truly awful was occurring there, and he really didn't want to go. Aziraphale arrived in a cold, windowless, stone prison to find things much worse than he even imagined; the whole experience had been so traumatizing that he'd forgotten if he was in Madrid or Seville or Toledo. He was doing his best to ease the immense amount of human suffering when he heard a familiar voice bouncing off the walls.

“Angel, what the _devil_ are you doing here?” Crowley looked awful; he was unkempt and extremely intoxicated.

“I'm on an assignment, obviously.” Aziraphale was a bit terse; the atmosphere wasn't doing him any favors.

Crowley made a miserable groaning noise and sobered up. “You can't be here,” he said. “You've got to get out of here.” He opened the door to an empty room and pulled Aziraphale in.

“Well, I'm not going to disagree with you, but I can't go back without some sort of report for,” Aziraphale pointed upwards. “What's happening here that's so dreadful? It feels... absolutely horrid.”

“Awful stuff, Angel, terrible stuff. The humans are... they're... it's just awful.” Crowley held a hand over his mouth.

“So this wasn't your doing, then?” Aziraphale caught the hurt look on Crowley's face just in time and tried to correct himself. “Your side's doing, I mean?”

“Not my side, no. Although they sent me a commendation for this. Makes me ill, honestly.”

Aziraphale remembered how shocked he'd been to see Crowley's utter distress at the whole situation. “All right. I'm sorry to ask, dear, I just needed to know. I believe you're right, it's long past time for me to get out of here. And you too. To be honest, I'd feel much better if you left with me-”

“Well, Angel, we're gonna have to do that, because Hastur's here too.”

“Who's here?”

“Hastur, he's not exactly my boss but, he's from you know. Below.” Crowley lowered his voice to a whipser. “He asked if he could come up and check it out, and apparently they let him. He's high on the whole thing.”

Aziraphale's eyes widened. “And so you've got to...”

“I'm going to have to escort you out of here,” Crowley hissed. “Should have never come here in the first place!”

“Well, it's not as though I can tell everyone up there to get stuffed-”

Crowley shoved a hand over his mouth and gestured for him to be quiet. Aziraphale heard a clanging noise of metal against metal, and then footsteps approaching the door. He caught Crowley's eyes and started to panic. Before Aziraphale could fully give in to the fear, he felt something cold and terribly heavy encircle his neck. Crowley removed his hand and placed it gently on Aziraphale's shoulder. “I'll get us out. Just follow my lead.”

Aziraphale reached up and felt the large iron collar around his neck. Crowley stood up and faced the door as Hastur entered. He had lifeless black eyes, frizzled out hair, smelled like rotting meat; pretty standard as far as what Aziraphale had come to expect from the average demon.

“Crowley? Are you...” Hastur trailed off as he entered the room and took in the scene; Aziraphale on his knees in the corner, with Crowley holding a thick chain attached to the center. His hands were bound behind his back with rope that was rubbing against his soft skin; he was painfully aware of every sensation working its way through his body, including the heat of arousal. As usual, he was thankful he hadn't manifested a cock, or else the whole situation would have been even more awkward.

“Yeah, I caught this one trying to get up to... good.” Crowley said nonchalantly, as though he'd just swatted a fly. Aziraphale swallowed and did his best to look sufficiently scared.

“You caught... an angel?” Hastur's black eyes went wide and he took a step backwards towards the door. “He's dangerous. We need help.”

“Ahh, look at him, he's not dangerous. He knows he's been caught. Isn't that right, _Angel_?” Crowley snarled out the word and made a show of jerking the chain around Aziraphale's neck while holding plenty of slack in his hand, so it didn't hurt at all. He took a deep breath as the iron chain swung back and forth; the whole situation was a whole lot more enticing than it had any right to be, really. Aziraphale's mind wandered and he imagined a few possibilities for if the two of them were alone, not in some sort of awful prison, not facing down another demon. “I'm gonna haul him out of here, Hastur. You can do whatever you want. Go back down, or, I don't know, stay and watch whatever the fuck is going on up here.”

“Are you sure you've got him? He's a Principality, for Satan's sake, you know he's going to try to kill you the first chance he gets!” Hastur looked far more terrified than Aziraphale expected, and the angel couldn't stop his surprise from showing on his face.

“He's with me,” Crowley said, “I've got him.” He headed towards the door, and Aziraphale slowly stood up without the use of his hands. And then Crowley led him out of the room, as a “prisoner.” Hastur was apparently so nervous that he had turned his back to the scene as they left. Crowley walked slowly until they made their way outside, and then he'd opened up his wings. The next thing Aziraphale remembered was coming to in the middle of an olive grove.

He slowly opened his eyes. “Crowley?”

“I enjoy seeing your face, Angel, but I'm afraid we've got to stop meeting like this.” Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley's smiling face, and he'd never been more relieved. He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck.

“What in the hell is going on back there?”

“I'm not sure. Humans getting up to all sorts of awful things. But you're all right now, Hastur went back to watch and  - I don't know. I'll make up some line about how you fought your way out of the chain or something. Maybe give myself a few bruises.” Aziraphale reached up to his neck; the collar and chain were gone, but oh, he couldn't forget how that felt.

In the present, as Aziraphale stared at the couple a few seats down from him in the bar, he started to understand several feelings he'd had over the years, things he hadn't quite been able to articulate until now. He was drawn to the peaceful surrender of the blond man kneeling on the floor, as well as the firm yet kind control being wielded by the man in the chair, who was carrying on a conversation with the man next to him while carding his fingers through his partner's hair. The black-haired man snapped his fingers, and the blond man put his hands behind his back and sat back on his heels. Why was this all so arousing? Aziraphale so desperately wanted to understand the desire that was coursing through him like a fire. Just when he thought he was about to combust, the black-haired man reached down and cupped his partner's jaw in one hand, while continuing to carry on a conversation like nothing was happening. It was then that Aziraphale realized two things: the amount of skill present to uphold such a dynamic, and how absolutely sopping wet he was.

He closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the times he'd been able to follow Crowley out of trouble, all the skills Crowley had whipped out in order to get him out of a spot of trouble, or just to get him a nice meal. Crowley was nothing if not highly talented, and there was little he wouldn't do for him, and oh _god_ – how would that feel? To be held so fully and completely in Crowley's capable hands? Aziraphale had known how proficient those long fingers were for millennia. He had enjoyed having them wrapped around his cock the few times Crowley had touched him; he longed to know what Crowley's fingers would feel like running down the length of his back, spreading his thighs open, dipping inside his cunt... Aziraphale shifted in his seat and flagged down the bartender for another drink, then thought about whether he should clean himself up or not. Aziraphale opted to continue sitting as he was; he missed Crowley, he really did.

Aziraphale had been catching bits and pieces of the music coming off the radio; it wasn't anything particularly fascinating, just a barrage of 'top hits' apparently. It had been mostly upbeat songs for the past hour, but the music had shifted gears and a plantive sounding piano intro gave way to a man's voice singing earnestly. Aziraphale caught some of the words and decided to listen closer.

 _To think that only yesterday,_  
_I was cheerful, bright, and gay_  
_Looking forward to who wouldn't do_  
_The role I was about to play_  
_But as if to knock me down,_  
_Reality came around_

Aziraphale quickly realized he'd heard the song several times over the last few years but hadn't ever taken the time to listen to the lyrics.

 _Talk about God, in his mercy_  
_Who, if he really does exist_  
_why did he desert me?_  
_In my hour of need_  
_I truly am, indeed_  
_Alone again, naturally_

It was quite odd to hear such expressions of sorrow flowing so freely over the airwaves; most songs Aziraphale listened to about sadness and grief were much more metaphorical in their expression of it. There was something about hearing such unvarnished despair that cut a bit too close to the quick. Here he was, sitting in a bar by himself, missing Crowley, feeling all too aware that he'd been mucking things up between them. A raucous burst of laughter cut through the song, and Aziraphale turned to see a table of four men laughing heartily.

 _And when she passed away_  
_I cried and cried all day_  
_Alone again, naturally_  
_Alone again, naturally_

Aziraphale stared into his empty wine glass. Miserable business this was, drinking alone. Specifically, drinking without Crowley. He gestured to the bartender for another glass and then he started to catch some snippets of a conversation taking place at the table with the laughing men. His back was turned to them, so he couldn't tell who was saying what, but it piqued his interest all the same.

“Look, it's not Jerry's fault that they're moving and all. I just don't know where else we're supposed to have it.”

“I'd offer my shop up, but it's too small. Once I bring everything in for the evening, there's no room.”

“But don't we only have six people so far in the book club? All of us, plus Jerry and George?”

“I mean, right now we do. Providing all goes well, we could have two dozen by the end of the year.”

“He's right. The whole point is to get it off the ground so we can spread the word.”

Someone let out a loud groan. “I'm not sure I would have started a gay book club if I'd known how much of a pain in the ass the whole thing would be.”

“Stop your fussing!”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath and decided to intervene. Perhaps this would count as another good deed for the day. He stepped off his barstool, walked over to the table, and cleared his throat loudly. All four men turned to face him.

“Ah, hello, gentlemen. I uh, well, I don’t want to intrude, but I couldn’t help but overhear you were looking for a location to have your book club meeting?

“Yeah. Well? Go on,” drawled a ginger-haired man with fair skin and a generous dusting of freckles across his round cheeks.

“Yes, ahh, I thought perhaps... I might be able to help you. I am the proprietor of a bookshop in Soho, and well, you would be welcome to have your meetings at my establishment. If you’d like that.”

“Which bookshop?” asked the Black man seated to his left; he had a closely shorn beard and a few grey hairs coming in at his temples.

“A Z Fell and company, just at-”

“I knew it! I knew a fellow pansy had to be running that place. Been in there a few times. I’m William.” He extended his hand to Aziraphale.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m-” who was he? “Ezra.”

“Ezra, right? Won’t you join us then?” William pulled a chair over from the next table and everyone adjusted a bit to make room.

“I don’t want to interrupt your-”

“Oh shut up, you old queen, you’re not interrupting shit,” said the white man with the dark curly hair, who appeared to be wearing a touch of rouge. “All these fruits do is complain. What are you drinking?” Aziraphale was a bit flustered by the language, but sat down regardless.

“I'm, well, I was just having some red wine.” The table burst into laughter.

“Oh come on. I know you're posh and all, but have a _real_ drink with us. I'm Sanjay.” His teeth shone brightly against his warm brown skin, and he dramatically swept a bit of his glossy black hair out of his eyes before offering out his hand. Aziraphale recognized the fragrance he was wearing; he knew it was expensive but he couldn't remember the name offhand. It would come to him later... 

“All right, then.” Aziraphale raised his chin and adjusted his bow tie. “Gin for me.”

Three rounds later, Aziraphale knew the following: Jimmy hailed from Newcastle and lived in Marlyebone with his five cats and his partner, Sanjay worked in advertising and was a badminton champion in the days of his youth, William had been in the bookshop multiple times and was a fellow business owner in Soho (his flower shop was three blocks away from Aziraphale), and Larry was the one with all the jokes who enjoyed doing drag on the weekends. Sort of odd bunch, Aziraphale thought, but they all seemed to get on with each other quite well, and they were nothing but kind to him once he sat down. The leather couple Aziraphale had been staring at for hours finally got up and left, and Larry caught Aziraphale watch them walk out the door.

“God, I'd give anything to get on a leash for Ben,” he said, throwing back the last of whatever it was he was drinking (bartender's special, he'd called it.)

“His name's Ben?” Aziraphale asked. “Do you know them?”

“Eh, sorta. They're real big at the Coleherne.”

“The what?”

“It's the leather bar down the road,” Sanjay added. “Not really my scene, but.” He shrugged.

“Live and let live, right?” said Jimmy.

After two more rounds, the bartender rang a bell behind the counter to indicate that it was time for last call. Aziraphale was pretty damn drunk at this point, but wasn't interested in sobering up just yet.

“So,” he said, addressing everyone at the table, “the Gay Men's Book Club will be meeting at my shop in Soho, on Tuesday, at 7pm. Have I got that right?”

“Yes,” Sanjay said. “We will all be there, maybe a few others, too.”

“You should plan on maybe six or eight people,” William said. “I'll bring some snacks.”

“And I'd be happy to have tea for everyone. All right, then, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday.” Aziraphale gestured as if tipping his hat before walking out the door.

“That man's twice as gay as the four of us put together,” Larry quipped. Sanjay, William, and Jimmy all burst into laughter. (It doesn't hold quite the same energy as 'every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings,' but, as Aziraphale would soon discover, the first time a group of gay friends talk about you behind your back is the moment they accept you as one of their own.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Polari! the gay slang used a lot in Britain before homosexuality was decriminalized. important historical stuff. 
> 
> The Coleherne was indeed a famous leather bar... many famous people went there... including... Freddie Mercury *eyes_emoji.jpeg*


	24. You Can't Be Nobody's Lover 'Til You're Somebody's Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob said GAY RIGHTS. Crowley goes with Bob to Gay Freedom Day in San Francisco, which is the event that eventually became Pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the changed tags! Crowley and Aziraphale are going to be presenting with various "Efforts" as they see fit! 
> 
> Please also note that the word "transsexual" is used in this chapter - it is not used in a pejorative way or as a slur, however I recognize the word might be triggering for some so I wanted to issue this warning at the beginning. In the 1970's, the word transsexual was in use by trans rights organizations and by trans people, so it's most likely the word that people would have been using. okay, thank you all for reading! And thank you so much to @ trickshire for being the most excellent Beta reader and friend.

Friday, June 25, 1976  
En route to San Francisco

Crowley learned two things on the way to San Francisco; he still hated to fly, but it was much better with a drinking companion. Bob got them seats in first class, and their flight attendant, Manuel, was apparently a close friend of James's. The drinks and food flowed freely for the entire six hours. As the plane began its descent into SF, Manuel confirmed that he'd be joining them later in the evening to kick off the weekend. Bob briefly explained the history of Gay Freedom Day to Crowley; he'd been twice before and had decided to make it a yearly thing. He bubbled over with excitement as he described the overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by other gay people (Bob always referred to “our people”) and his hopes and dreams for a future where all of “our people” could be free to work, to live, to love, without harm, without fear. So much of human history made no sense to Crowley; this was no exception. Sometimes he really wanted to grab certain people by the shoulders, shake them, and say “God is a woman, and that's not what She meant!”

Thankfully, they had a smooth landing and were soon in a cab on their way to the heart of the city. The light was absolutely unbelievable; Crowley caught glimpses of the fog clinging to patches of the landscape and the late afternoon sunlight sparkling off the water. Bob pointed out landmarks along the way, and soon they were driving up and down some of the steepest streets Crowley had ever seen. They eventually stopped in front of a hotel lobby and Bob whipped out his wallet before Crowley could object. He'd have to find a way to cover dinner. Or the hotel. Or something. Bob got the bags out of the trunk before helping Crowley out of the car; as Crowley stepped out, a short and stout man with fair skin and brown hair was walking towards them and waving.

“Hello, my love,” Bob said to the man, who smiled broadly, then wrapped his hand around Bob's neck and passionately kissed him. “I'm so glad to see you. God, it's been too long.”

The man sighed. “I know. What a year.” He turned to face Crowley and extended his hand. “And you must be AJ. It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm James, Bob's partner.”

Crowley immediately felt completely out of his element. He hadn't realized James would be here, and he had no clue how to handle the situation. Couldn't go wrong with a handshake and a polite greeting though, right? Crowley stepped into 'producer' mode and spoke to James the way he'd spoken to dozens of musicians over the past few years. “Hello, James. Heard quite a lot of good things about you. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, and I've heard _wonderful_ things about you as well!” James's tone was saucy, a bit flirtatious, and not at all jealous? Crowley was extremely confused, but also flattered that he'd gotten the approval of his... friend's partner? His lover's partner? His...?

“Ahh. Well I'm looking forward to the weekend,” Crowley said honestly. James reached out and linked his arm with Crowley's.

“Me too! Shall we get our rooms sorted and then get out on the town, love?” James asked Bob.

“Let's go,” Bob said, and the three of them walked arm-in-arm into the hotel. Crowley took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was a demon, a literal agent of Hell, complete with magical powers; if all else failed, he could fake a stomach virus and take himself back to London with a snap of his fingers.

James knew the hotel manager and had managed to snag two connected, rather posh balcony suites; Crowley wasn't quite sure what the sleeping arrangements were going to be, and thinking about it made his stomach do backflips, so he just left his small bag on the sofa in one of the suites. There was a lovely view of the city and a whole lot of alcohol in the mini fridge. Crowley conjured up a red short sleeved buttondown and sat on the balcony until James and Bob were ready to head out for the first night of the weekend.

Bob, James, and Crowley headed out and met up with Manuel and a few other mutual friends at a bar on Polk Street. The first thing Crowley noticed was how strong the pours were; he was feeling it after just two drinks. Bob, James, and Manuel spent a few rounds catching up, and then went over the details for the parade. They would join Manuel at his friend's balcony to watch the festivities, starting at 11am. The music was pretty great; Bob led Crowley out onto the dance floor and James followed. At one point both Bob and James had their hands on Crowley's hips as they all swayed to the beat.

The three of them stumbled back to the hotel around 2am. Crowley was rather drunk, but he'd had an amazing evening out. James opened the door to the first suite; they'd left the door that connected the suites open and Crowley kicked his boots off and slumped over the sofa. He'd sober up once James & Bob went to bed. He felt a hand on his arm and opened his eyes to see James kneeling on the floor next to him.

“Hey cutie,” he said. Crowley sat up quickly.

“Hi,” Crowley said nervously. Bob had unbuttoned his shirt and sat next to Crowley on the sofa.

“So, beautiful boy,” Bob said, tracing his fingers over Crowley's arm, “James has taken as much of a liking to you as I have. We were wondering if you'd want to spend the night with both of us.” Crowley's eyebrows shot up as James pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.

“Bob has gone on and on about how cute you were,” James said. “But I'm afraid he didn't quite do you justice.” He interlaced his fingers with Crowley's.

“Buhhh,” Crowley sputtered. He was still adjusting to the concept of being desired, and being desired by two people who were both currently in front of him was a bit... much. “I uh, I'm flattered, but-”

“A bit too much for you?” Bob asked. Crowley nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

James sighed. “Aww. Damn,” he said. “You're just so cute.” He stood up and ruffled Crowley's hair a bit. “Maybe another time, once we all get to know each other better.”

Crowley immediately felt self-consicous. James had gotten them both here and arranged a lovely place for them to stay and here was was, being...himself. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

“It's okay,” Bob said, “Don't be sorry.”

“Oh, AJ, seriously, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,” James added. Both men were sitting next to him on the couch now, gently rubbing his back. Crowley felt a bit tender around the edges. “Are you okay?” James asked.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” Crowley said. “Think I'm a bit overwhelmed.” Bob kissed Crowley's temple.

“We're gonna go to bed,” Bob said. “I haven't seen this guy in a few months. We'll be over in the other suite.” Bob and James stood up, and then Bob offered his hand to Crowley and pulled him up into a tender embrace. “Don't sleep on the couch,” Bob said into his ear. “The beds here are really plush. Get some good rest, beautiful boy.” He put his hand on Crowley's jaw and kissed him.

“There's plenty of drinks in the fridge and some snacks, too,” James said as he took Bob's hand and led him towards the door to the other suite.

“We'll be up in time for the parade,” Bob called over his shoulder. “See you in the morning!”

James shut the door behind them, and Crowley wandered into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and took off his socks. It had been an odd but exhilarating day, and he felt glad to have some time to himself to process everything. After getting undressed and under the covers, Crowley was asleep within ten minutes; the bed was almost as good as sleeping on a cloud.

 

* * *

 

Saturday, June 26, 1976  
Gay Freedom Day  
San Francisco

Bob, James, and Crowley made it to the balcony party just in the nick of time; the streets were already crowded with people, but they were still easily navigated. Crowley followed Bob and James up the stairs to a warm and cozy apartment covered with houseplants and macrame; he admired a variegated pothos in the corner before heading out onto the balcony, which was a lot larger than he'd imagined. Manuel introduced him to over a dozen people whose names he immediately forgot, despite his best efforts. They were mostly men, but there were a few women among the crowd. Crowley was still feeling a bit awkward about what (hadn't) happened last night, so he stayed towards the far edge of the balcony with Manuel, who pointed out lots of important people in the parade while telling Crowley his most ridiculous stories from work.

The atmosphere was joyous; Crowley watched as the crowds moved in time with each new beat from cars, floats, motorcycles, and people on foot walking by. Everyone carried hand lettered signs and banners: Gay Liberation Now!, Dykes on Bikes, Bisexual Alliance, on and on it went, femmes in full makeup and shirtless men in leather gear along with folks who looked like they worked in a bank and long haired hippies. People walking in the streets tossed up plastic beads to everyone on the balconies looking down. It seemed like Crowley saw every possible type of person in the parade; he hadn’t seen a spectacle even remotely like this in centuries. Possibly millennia. Crowley lost track of where Bob and James had gone and eventually spotted them on the other end of the balcony. James caught Crowley's eye and gestured for him to come over.

“I’m gonna go inside and refill drinks, who needs one?” Several hands shot up, and people started handing James their empty cups. “AJ, can you help me out?”

“Sure,” Crowley said as he took a few more cups. He followed James into the kitchen and tried to make sense of the various liquors scattered everywhere. “So uh, what are we doing here?”

James laughed. “I think the goal is to get everyone as drunk as possible.”

“Ah, right then.” Crowley picked up a bottle of tequila and began pouring generously into the plastic cups.

James cleared his throat. “AJ, I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to come on too strong last night.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Crowley said without looking up.

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you want to talk about it.” James’s tone was so sincere as to be disarming. Crowley looked at him and saw his face etched with concern.

“Yeah, I’m, yeah. Not sure what Bob’s told you about me, or my….” the word still felt odd on his tongue, especially after seeing how Bob and James were with one another, “partner.”

“He hasn’t said much. Just that you have one and, in your words, that it’s ‘complicated.’” James opened the fridge and plunked a bottle of sour mix in front of Crowley.

“Yeah, that’s definitely. It’s that,” Crowley opened the sour mix and topped off at least six of the cups. “Any ice in there?”

James opened the freezer. “Oh, yeah. Everyone’s prepared.” He began scooping ice into the makeshift margaritas.

“I just,” Crowley looked down at his hands on the counter. “I’ve only ever been with my partner. I mean, besides with Bob, and all. I can’t say I’m. Well,” he laughed nervously. “I’m quite new to a lot of it, is all.”

James nodded, giving him a look Bob often gave him, a look of kindness and understanding without judgment. “We’re all on our own timelines.” Crowley hummed in agreement.

“So, we’re good?” James asked as he placed a hand gently on Crowley’s upper arm. Crowley nodded, and he meant it; they were good, but he was having a bit of trouble articulating exactly what he was feeling in the moment. He opened his mouth and gave it a try.

“Yeah, James. We’re good. Honestly, it’s all just a bit strange for me, how good it is,” Crowley said, gesturing between them. “It’s not like I’ve had a lot of experience with, you know. This sort of thing. That you and Bob have. Or being a part of it, or, whatever.”

James nodded. “We’re giving in our best try. It’s certainly not for everyone, but Bob and I have found what works for us, and none of it works if we don’t communicate with one another.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what it is…” Crowley trailed off as he sat with the realization of how much trust Bob and James had to have in one another to make a relationship like this work for over a decade. He squeezed a bit of lime into the cups.

“It’s what?”

Crowley furrowed his brow as he tried to explain it. “You two are just so… honest, really, it’s… I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

James laughed. “Well, yeah, we have to be. Even if it’s not easy.”

“I guess so,” Crowley said softly.

James gave Crowley a quick one armed hug as he turned to head back out to the balcony. “I don’t know you too well yet, AJ, but I hope you realize I’m also here for you. As a friend,” he added quickly. “We’ve got to take care of our own, you know.” He smiled. “Shall we get back out there?” Crowley picked up four drinks from the counter and followed him out onto the balcony. The parade just kept going and going; Crowley had truly never seen anything like it.

At one point, everyone on the balcony began removing more of their clothes, and Crowley was soon the only man outside without his shirt off. He looked down into his empty drink and headed back inside to refill it. He'd then taken a brief look around the apartment and discovered a bay window full of houseplants. Crowley was examining an extraordinarily large African violet when he was snapped out of his train of thought.

“Nice, isn't it? I've had it for over fifteen years.”

He turned to see a short white woman with a thick head of brilliant silver hair; she was wearing all black, and her thick glasses were a bright red. “Yeah, it is really nice. Never have had much luck with these,” Crowley admitted.

“I'm Janet,” the woman said. “My partner Sandy and I live here. I don't think I caught your name earlier.”

“I'm AJ.” Crowley extended his hand. “I'm a friend of Bob. And James,” he added.

“Ahh, lovely. Not much for the party scene, are you?” Janet asked.

“Ehhh.” Crowley made a non-committal noise from deep in the back of his throat. “I'm not sure it's that, I just. I spend a lot of time alone. Guess you could say I'm the quiet sort.”

“You like plants?”

“Love 'em,” Crowley said. Janet motioned for him to follow her down the hall; she opened a door to reveal a small grow room filled with plants of all types and sorts. “Wow. Love this.” Crowley looked around to see all sorts of unfamiliar, yet beautiful plants perched on shelves and ledges. He watched intently as Janet listed off the name of each plant, along with how long she'd had it. Crowley felt at ease and was grateful for a moment away from the crowd.

“This is an oncidium orchid,” she said as she pointed out a five-pointed yellow flower that looked a lot like a star. Crowley ooh'd at the beautiful, lush plant. She brushed a bit of her grey hair out from over her glasses. “It takes all of us to make a community, you know. The quiet types who like to stay in, all of that. There's no one way to be a part of it all.”

Crowley nodded and ran his finger over the edge of a green, glossy Phalenopsis leaf. His eye wandered to the back of the room and he saw a five leaved plant that looked rather familiar. “Is that...?” he said, gesturing to it.

Janet laughed. “Yep. That's the devil's lettuce indeed.” Her eyes crinkled up at the corners and she raised her eyebrows at Crowley. “Do you wanna get high?”

“Hell yeah,” Crowley said. He followed Janet back out to the kitchen; she jammed a corkscrew in a bottle of red wine and then handed Crowley a Mason jar and a lighter. She led Crowley up a fire escape to the roof, which had an incredible view of the hills of the city, the bay on one side, and the ocean on the other. She rolled joint after joint for them and told Crowley about her time working in the factories during World War II, how she moved to San Francisco, and how she met Sandy. They quickly lost track of time, and stayed on the roof chatting and laughing until Manuel hollered up, “You'd better get your asses back down here, because my gay ass is not climbing up there!”

* * *

City Disco  
San Francisco, California

Bob, James, Manuel, and Crowley walked into the disco to the sound of Donna’s voice: “Love to Love You Baby” was playing and the lights were flashing in sync with the beat. Crowley looked around as the waves of color splashed over the disco ball and the crowd full of dancers.

“What do you think?” Bob asked Crowley.

“Well it's all... it's all great, but the lights! The lights are incredible.” Crowley heard Manuel laughing and turned to see him standing next to a white man with a mustache and a tight muscle t-shirt.

“This is my friend Patrick,” Manuel gestured to the man with the mustache. “AJ here was just talking about your work.”

Patrick's eyebrows went up. “Oh, really?”

“He does the lights here,” Manuel said, elbowing Patrick, who rolled his eyes a bit.

“This is AJ Crowley,” Bob said. “He was in the room when this song was recorded. Can you believe it?” It was then Crowley's turn to look down at the floor. Patrick was apparently a big fan and Crowley was happy to give him all the details he could remember. They stood and chatted for a while (12 minutes to be exact) until Patrick had to get back to manning the lights. James and Manuel went to the dance floor; Bob and Crowley got through two and a half drinks before the Pointer Sisters came on. They downed the third drink quickly and Bob led Crowley out onto the floor. He recognized the song from the record Bob had sent him a while back.

 _Goin' down slowly_  
_Slowly goin' down_  
_Goin' down slowly_  
_Slowly goin' down_

The floor was crowded and it took them a while to find a spot and settle in. Crowley scanned the room and eventally saw James locked in a passionate kiss with Manuel. He tried not to stare but he couldn’t help it. Then he heard Bob chuckle. “Oh, I’ve been telling James to hook up with Manuel for ages. He’s such a sweetheart and they’re already such good friends.” Bob brought his hands down around Crowley’s hips. “I’ll have to check in with him, but I think that means he’s going to be busy tonight,” he said as he landed a kiss on Crowley’s jaw. “And I hope I can be busy tonight too,” he said, suggestively waggling his eyebrows in a way that made Crowley bust up into laughter.

“Might have to work a bit harder on your pickup lines,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s dance a bit more before we take off, yeah?”

The music shifted into a slow and easy keyboard riff, eventually joined by a slick hi-hat and some strings; Crowley looked around as the crowd began moving in the new rhythm. He let his hips swing a bit more than they had earlier in the night. Something about the groove felt familiar and he felt so at ease on the dance floor. The lights changed with each songs and moved in perfect time with the music, the colors matching the energy of each song. Crowley was looking up at the disco ball when he felt Bob wrap his arm around Crowley’s lower back and pull him closer.

 _Sooner or later_  
_We're gonna make it, make it, make it_  
_Sooner or later_  
_We're gonna do it, do it, do it_

He rested his forehead against Crowley’s and worked his hips against Crowley on the two and the four. It wasn’t long before Bob leaned in and kissed Crowley, slow and sloppy, but still something that took his breath away. Crowley pulled back a bit so he could get a look at Bob in the dance floor lights. Bob looked at Crowley and then spoke into his ear. “So you still want to be doing this with me, then?”

The question stunned Crowley. “Of course I do, why would you-”

“I was worried I'd overstepped last night and you'd think less of me for wanting... something, you know, like that.” Bob began running his fingers down the front of Crowley’s shirt.

“No, I mean,” Crowley wrapped his arms around Bob’s shoulders. “I just wasn't up for... for that. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, don't be sorry. I was just being greedy.” He winked at Crowley.

Crowley felt his knees go a bit weak and suddenly, he wanted to get back to the hotel. He felt comfortable, at ease, and excited. He let his hands wander down to Bob's waist, then his hips, and he ran the back of his hand up against the front of Bob's pants.

“You think we could um, get out of here soon?” Crowley's eyebrow arched above the edge of his sunglasses.

Bob froze for a few seconds with a look of surprise on his face before he took Crowley's hand and headed towards the exit.

 

* * *

 

Once back inside the suite, Crowley led Bob to the bed he'd slept in last night. Bob kissed Crowley while they were moving back towards the bed; he pushed him up against the bed until Crowley's knees folded and he flopped down on his back. Crowley heard the rustling sound of more clothing being tossed to the floor, and then Bob climbed overtop him, kissing his stomach, then his ribs, and finally bringing their mouths together. Crowley moaned as Bob ground his hips against him; he felt Bob's cock ready and hard for him, and he was quite eager to get his hands on it again. He'd had quite a bit of practice in the past six months; Crowley was thinking about a few of the times he'd gotten Aziraphale off and he felt a twinge of anxiety. Would he have the same issues with Bob? Crowley felt the heat and tension coiling up inside him; he wanted to be touched so badly, truly, he did. His breathing sped up as he remembered a few of the times he'd gotten suddenly uncomfortable in an intimate moment. Bob's fingernails grazed his torso and Crowley moaned. He worked off his trousers despite being distracted by Bob sucking marks on his chest and collarbones. Crowley finally wiggled out of his pants and brought his body closer to Bob's, opening his legs without thinking, and Bob reached down between his thighs and...

“Uhhh?” Bob said with his fingers just inside Crowley. Oh shit. Crowley hadn't focused enough and now...

He let out a deep sigh and grabbed his sunglasses off the side table. “I'm going to turn the light on,” he said. Best to get this over with soon. Crowley donned his armor and switched on the lamp. Bob's hand was still resting gently on his spontaneously-manifested vulva and Crowley watched as he looked down at his hand, and then up to Crowley's face.

“I didn't know that-” Bob said.

“I should have told you,” Crowley tried to cut Bob off and turned his head away in shame.

“-you were a natural redhead,” Bob finished his sentence without missing a beat. Crowley looked over to see a playful grin on his face. Crowley frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't quite get the words to come out. “Oh fuck, I'm sorry,” Bob said as he brought his hand up and laid it gently on Crowley's upper arm. “That was in poor taste. I'm so sorry. It was a bad attempt at a joke.” Crowley could no longer hold in his reaction to the absurdity of the situation and began laughing as he put his hands over his eyes. Bob watched him, gently rubbing circles on his back, and when he felt that it might be okay to laugh as well, he joined Crowley and they held each other until the laughter subsided.

“I – I guess this is why you've been so shy this whole time?” Bob asked, lines of concern etched in between his brows.

“I mean. Yeah. It is,” Crowley said, “but it's not the only reason. It's. There's. It's a lot to explain.”

Bob nodded and swallowed before speaking calmly. “I don't mind, you know.” Crowley whipped his head up to look at Bob. “I don't mind that you're a...” Crowley watched as he reached for a word, any word to describe- “a transsexual.” When Crowley remained silent, Bob began to stammer. “I mean, I mind in the sense that I care about you, and I want you to be comfortable, but I'm not... bothered, or...” he trailed off as he entwined his still damp fingers with Crowley's.

Crowley swallowed, attempting to tamp down something that was working its way up from the center of his chest. “You, uh, you don't?” he squeaked out, his voice a good octave higher than normal from nerves.

“AJ, I like you. A whole lot.” Bob said, sincere as ever, his blue eyes locking onto Crowley's even behind the sunglasses. He gave Crowley's hand a little squeeze. “You're infinitely fascinating.”

“So, uh...” Crowley chewed at the corner of his lip. “What, um. What should we. I mean, what do you want to do at-”

Bob kissed Crowley and then reached over for the light, turning it off without breaking contact; it was the smoothest move Crowley had ever seen. “I would like to continue what we were doing,” he said before running his tongue over the inside of Crowley's upper lip. “That is, if you want.” Crowley couldn't answer, and was quickly becoming aware of the fire slowly building with him. He pulled Bob's head down and kissed him, clacking their teeth together a little bit in his enthusiasm. “Is that a yes?”

“It's absolutely a yes,” Crowley said breathlessly. As Bob's hands began tracing down his sternum, he manifested a few faded scar lines on his chest, where he imagined they'd be. Crowley did his best to make them just subtle enough so Bob wouldn't feel like an idiot for missing it. He'd come up with a line about the best surgeon in the world later on, or something. Bob trailed his fingers down Crowley’s ribs, over his hipbones, then back between his legs. Crowley cried out as Bob dipped a finger between the slick folds of his vulva.

“Is that okay?” Bob asked as he dipped his head down to lick around the edge of Crowley’s nipple.

“Yeah,” Crowley said breathlessly. Bob ran two fingers over Crowley’s clit and he rolled his hips forward into the contact. He began moving his fingers slowly, up and down in long strokes; Crowley groaned and brought his hands up to grip Bob’s shoulders. Just when Crowley felt the need for more contact, Bob grabbed one of his hands and pulled it down overtop his.

“Show me how you like it,” Bob said, and honestly, Crowley wasn’t terribly experienced at this, but he had an idea. He guided Bob’s hand in circles, starting slow, and working up to a faster pace.

“Can you,” Crowley tapped Bob’s other arm, “can you get your fingers inside - inside me?” Bob shifted positions so he was able to use both of his hands and sunk two fingers into Crowley’s cunt. “Ah - fuck - that’s,” Crowley moaned. He felt his thighs start to tremble and knew he was getting close. Such a different experience with this Effort; he felt so much more comfortable and at ease.

Bob also felt him quivering and began talking Crowley through it. “God, I can feel you shaking,” he said reverently. “You’re so amazing, your body, AJ, can’t tell you how fucking hot this is.” He worked both hands on Crowley while murmuring into his chest. “I wanna feel you come like this, can you come like this, beautiful boy? Tell me how to make you come.”

And with that Crowley came so hard that his ears starting ringing, clutching around Bob’s fingers and clawing into his back as he rode it out.

“Oh, wow,” Bob said, again with the same tone of wonder. Crowley jerked and shuddered through the last few waves and then suddenly grabbed Bob's hand and took it off his clit. “Hnnng, ahh,” he gasped. “Too... too sensitive.” He threw his head back and landed on the pillow, panting for air.

“Oh yeah, that's right.” Bob said. “I don't have one of these so. Forgot how it gets.” He tossed his arm over Crowley's heaving chest and kissed him deeply, slowly until Crowley's breathing steadied out a bit and his pesky human-ish heart wasn't thumping like a drum. “Wow,” Bob kept saying. “God, that was so fucking hot, AJ.” He lapped at Crowley’s collarbone and held his face tenderly; Crowley could smell himself all over Bob’s fingers and it sent a twinge of heat back down into his clit, still pulsing from the intensity of his orgasm.

“Can I,” Crowley tried to ask. “What can I. What can I do for you?”

Bob chuckled, ran his fingers down the angular lines of Crowley's body, and rested them on his hipbones. “Oh, I think maybe I can do that for you again another time or two, don't you?”

Crowley gasped. “I -”

“It's only fair after all you've done for me, don't you think?” There was only the slightest bit of yellow light seeping into the room from the streetlights outside, but Crowley knew a wicked grin when he heard it. He caught sight of Bob's smile glinting in the dark as he slowly began moving his hand over towards the junction of Crowley's thighs.

“Oh,” was all Crowley could get out before Bob kissed him and went back to work.

 

* * *

 

Sunday, June 27, 1976

For their last night in town, Bob asked to take Crowley out to a live show in North Beach. Bob described it as an upscale gay show, and it seemed like a nice way to come down from yesterday's celebration. Crowley hadn't woken up until around noon, and Bob didn't even stir until 3pm. They headed out for a late afternoon sobering-up meal and were surrounded by many other people in similar predicaments. After some pancakes and bacon, Bob perked up a bit, and they spent the afternoon wandering around the Castro, stopping into all the businesses with “Gay Owned” signs in the window. Crowley was flipping through novelty print t-shirts when he saw one that caught his eye: a black shirt with a halo on one shoulder and a little demon tail on the other. It read “I Tried To Be Good In San Francisco.” Crowley smirked and grabbed two of them.

“You really like all that stuff, huh?” Bob asked, pointing to the halo on the shirt.

“Guess, so, yeah.” Crowley grabbed a few macrame plant hangers and tossed them on the counter. They stumbled back to the hotel around 7. Bob asked Crowley to make sure he was awake by 9, and then promptly passed out on the bed, fully dressed.

Crowley was more sore than tired and decided to take a nice long shower. He gave himself a good scrub and spent extra time on his hair. After drying off, he just stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time. He felt more comfortable in his body than he ever had. And after all his experiences in the last 48 hours, he felt safe; he felt like if he could go all out in his presentation anyplace in the world, it would be here. So Crowley went for it. He manifested himself fishnet stockings, an immaculate pair of patent leather black heels, a short leather skirt, a sheer black lace top, and gave his hair an extra bit of height at the roots with a little flip on the end. Crowley loved makeup, especially lipstick, so he gave himself a blood-red pout and a bit of rouge to go with it. He'd completely lost track of time when he heard a gentle knock on the door.

“Are you still in there, AJ?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “I'm almost done, I decided to go for something a little... different for tonight.”

Bob made a delighted “ooh!” noise on the other side of the door. “Can't wait to see!”

Crowley put his hand on the doorknob. No sense in delaying it, if Bob was disgusted, or if he hated it, he could always-

“Oh my god.” Bob's eyes went wide with awe. “Oh my god. I didn't know you were into this.”

Crowley adjusted his skirt. “So it's all right, then?”

“All right? Jesus _Christ_ , you look incredible. Your hair, your legs, my god, I – I need a minute.” Bob sat down on the bed, took Crowley's hand, kissed it softly. “Can't wait to be your date tonight.”

Crowley smiled. “Good.”

“Do you want me to... call you anything different for tonight?” Bob asked.

“I'm sorry?”

“Well, you're all, zhooshed up here. Do you have a drag name or anything?”

Crowley still didn't totally follow, but he grasped enough to respond. “No, it's just.” How to explain something he hadn't quite figured out for himself - “I'm still me. It's me,” he said, pointing to himself. “I just. I like to switch it up sometimes, is all. AJ is good.”

Bob nodded. “All right. Can I still tell you what a beautiful boy you are?”

Crowley's knees buckled a bit but he managed to avoid tripping over his heels. “Always.”

“I guess now is as good a time as any for this,” Bob said as he stood up and grabbed a black box from a drawer.

“A good time for...?” Crowley asked.

“Can you close your eyes for me?”

Crowley hesitated for a moment. “Um, sure.” He scrunched his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and he gasped as he felt Bob's hands on his sunglasses. “What-”

Bob took his hand and placed it over what felt like... another pair of glasses. “Can I switch these out for you? I had them make the lenses as dark as they could.” Oh, so they were sunglasses. Crowley nodded, and he stayed perfectly still as Bob gently worked the new glasses over his temples and onto his nose. Then he felt himself being led, and heard the click of his heels on the bathroom tile. Bob placed his hands on Crowley's shoulders. “All right, you. What do you think?”

Crowley opened his eyes to see a set of dramatic cat-eye sunglasses on his face; they were encrusted with little black and maroon gems all over the frames. True to Bob's word, they were the darkest shades he'd ever worn, and they even had flaps on the side to protect his eyes further. Crowley touched them with his mouth hanging open. “Oh... these are...”

“Do you like them? I know they're not your normal style, I just. I saw them and I thought of you.” Bob looked down at his feet and then back up to meet Crowley's gaze in the mirror.

Crowley leaned closer to the mirror and turned his head side to side to see the rhinestones covering the frames. They were gorgeous and very high quality; the thoughtfulness of the gift made Crowley's chest flutter. “They're absolutely stunning,” Crowley said. He put his hands on Bob's shoulders and pulled him close for an embrace. “I love them,” he whispered into Bob's ear.

“Excellent.” Bob planted a kiss on his cheek. “Don't wanna mess up your lipstick. Let's get going.”

 

* * *

 

The Palms  
Polk Street, San Francisco

They arrived to a classy restaurant with colorful murals on the walls. Crowley wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he was glad he'd gotten dressed up. Bob pulled out his chair for him, and they sat next to one another, facing the stage. After they'd gotten through a few glasses of wine, the band began to play, and a Black man in a long gold lame dress walked on the stage.

“That's Sylvester,” Bob said. “He's quite the sensation here. I think he'll probably have a record deal in a few years or so. He's absolutely incredible.”

Crowley couldn't take his eyes off Sylvester. He had a falsetto that could probably shatter a glass, and the stage presence to match it. He did lots of dramatic swoops with his flowing gown, and he worked the crowd with gusto. He was backed by a large band; Crowley counted at least four horn players along with a keyboard player, bass, drums, percussion, and guitar. The highlight of the backing band, though, was the two voluptuous Black women dressed in bright royal blue with their hair piled on top of their head and white orchids pinned just above their ears. They were singing as if their lives depended on it; soaring easily over high notes and down into the lower parts of their registers.

 _Over and over_  
_time and time again_  
_you can't be nobody's lover_  
_you can't be nobody's lover_  
_Till you're somebody's friend, ooh_

It was clear they knew Sylvester well; the three of them had a great stage dynamic and some wonderful patter. Crowley was completely entertained, and he was extremely happy to have Bob's hand resting just above his knee all throughout the show. Bob was right about Sylvester; Crowley was sure he'd be going places in the next few years. They stayed until the show was over, shook a few hands, and then headed back to the hotel. Once back in the suite, Crowley kicked off his heels. He was in the process of removing his fishnets when Bob knelt before him and put a hand on his calf.

“Is it all right if I,” Bob held up a Polaroid camera.

Crowley cocked his head. “You want to take a picture of me?” he asked.

“I'd love to take a few. If you don't mind.”

Crowley paused. “Are they... for you?”

“Oh.” Bob blushed a bit. “Yes, AJ. For me. Only for me.”

“Okay.” Crowley, suddenly self-conscious, crossed his legs and wrapped his arms around his waist.

Bob gently moved Crowley's arms so they were resting on the couch beside him, then took a photo. Crowley watched as the Polaroid spit the film out and they both stared at the tan square as the details of Crowley's form slowly came into view. Long legs, graceful limbs, fiery red hair... Crowley noticed the look of wonder on Bob's face as the photo developed, and for possibly the first time, he caught a glimpse of himself as an object of desire. He was surprised; he looked striking, dramatic, beautiful, even. Crowley carefully picked up the photo and set it down on the ccoffee table.

“Do you want to stop?” Bob asked.

“Uh, no.” Crowley uncrossed his legs and put his heels back on. “Just... help me figure out what to do?” Bob positioned Crowley against the wall, on the armrest of the sofa, and finally on the floor. He stood above Crowley and snapped photo after photo until the pack of film finally ran out. Bob laid out the photos in a grid on the coffee table and then kneeled at Crowley's feet. He kissed his way up Crowley's fishnet covered calves, knees, then up his stomach and chest, landing wet kisses through the black lace mesh. Crowley wrapped a leg around Bob as he finally made his way up to Crowley's neck, lips, cheekbones, forehead.

“Are you um, up for more of this tonight?” Bob asked as he ran his fingers through the flipped up edge of Crowley's hair.

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley said as he began sucking a mark at the base of Bob's neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay whew!!!!! What a chapter! I have so many notes to add and links and such but I'm exhausted. 
> 
> 1976 was the first year of Dykes on Bikes...
> 
> The Patrick that Crowley met is none other than Patrick Cowley, fucking legendary disco producer. Gone far too soon. Look up his unreleased albums. There is an album on band camp called "Catholic" that he was recording during this time but it's not on Spotify.
> 
> And yes that is the one and only Sylvester making his appearance as well. 
> 
> I had a hard time finding out a lot of information about disco playlists in SF in 1976 - the disco scene there went on a lot longer than in the rest of the country it seems, as there were still big disco hits going locally in SF up until about 1982. 1977-1979 was the Golden Age of Disco so I had them go to SF a bit early, but. Hey. Here we are. Anyways I love you all, thank you so much for reading and staying with the story!


	25. If You're Gonna Hurt Me, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes home from San Francisco. Aziraphale hosts the inaugural meeting of the Gay Men's Book Club. What happens when they're back together?
> 
> Thanks to @vulgarweed for the book suggestion on twitter - the book club will be going more into it soon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to remind everyone that this work is tagged with "Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms" and that's a thing in this chapter so content warning for alcohol.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for following along and leaving the most lovely and incredible comments. It's so encouraging and I appreciate you all so much. My usual pattern is to finish the chapter, post it, and then go back and respond to comments from the last chapter, so on, so forth. But I'm trying hard to respond to all the comments! Cause I appreciate them all so much, and I appreciate you all reading along.

Monday, June 28, 1976  
San Francisco, California

Crowley woke up with his limbs tangled up with Bob's and just laid there for a while, enjoying it. He didn't know when he would see Bob next, and he didn't really want the weekend to end. They slowly made their way out of bed, and Bob went to go check on what was happening in the other suite while Crowley took a nice long shower and scrubbed all the makeup off his face. Crowley was putting the final touches on his skincare routine when he heard a gentle knocking.

“I think they're still sleeping,” Bob said to Crowley through the bathroom door. Crowley laughed as he stepped out and into Bob's arms.

“This has been quite the time,” Crowley said. He was dressed in his usual attire of a button down shirt, blazer, and trousers, but decided to wear the cat eye sunglasses Bob had gotten him. “Thank you.”

“It's my pleasure.” Bob cupped his face and kissed him. “I think I'm long overdue for a trip to London. I hope to make it happen soon.”

The corner of Crowley's mouth turned up into a playful smile. “Me too.” They stared at each other for a moment that stretched out a bit longer than Crowley expected; he felt like perhaps he should say or do something else, but as he was thinking about what that might be, the moment passed, and they were heading out of the suite. Bob walked him down to the lobby and gave him a few suggestions of things to do for the rest of the day, and Crowley made sure to ask Bob to give his goodbyes and regards to James and Manuel. Crowley strutted out the door onto the street, wandered around the city looking at houses for a few hours, and then got himself back to London.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday, 29 June, 1976  
The Bookshop

The Gay Men's Book Club was meeting at the bookshop for the first time in a few hours, and Aziraphale was a certified mess. He'd never hosted a meeting like this for humans before. By 3pm, Aziraphale had rearranged the bookshop no fewer than four times before deciding to miracle up a couple dozen extra chairs and let everyone figure it out themslves. He'd ordered two trays of assorted pastries from the bakery up the block, and had fretted over what types of teas and coffees to get until the woman at his favorite shop put an assortment together for him. Aziraphale even dusted. He worked his way through the shop, moving, arranging, and cleaning until about 6:30pm and then took a break to clean himself up. At ten to seven, Aziraphale was by the door, clasping his slightly clammy hands together and waiting for people to show up. William was the first to arrive at 5 to; he’d brought a small vase filled with flowers that hadn’t sold at the shop. Aziraphale fussed over them for a bit, then Sanjay, Jimmy, and someone he didn’t know arrived all together. Jimmy started arranging chairs; Larry and a friend of his arrived just before the start time. Aziraphale waited until everyone had introduced themselves, (Mike and Jay were the newcomers), and then turned and walked to go back to his study. He was halfway there when he heard the unmistakable sound of an annoyed huff and slowly turned around. 

“So, you're  _not_ going to be in the book club?” Sanjay asked incredulously. Aziraphale faced the group and couldn’t come up with a reason why he’d be skipping out on ‘City of Night.’

“Sort of thought you'd want to read this,” Larry said. “Seeing as how you own a... bookshop and all.”

Aziraphale grabbed himself a chair and sat down next to William. “I didn’t realize you would want me to be in the club,” he finally said. “It seemed the main concern was... finding a suitable venue.”

There were several cries of “what?!” and “you really thought that?” and Aziraphale smiled shyly and basked in the reassurance that, yes, the Gay Men’s Book Club did indeed want him as a member. They did introductions and brainstormed for a while about exactly how the book club would work, coming to an agreement that the first day would be spent reading sections of the first chapter aloud, then discussing the content. (Moving forward, everyone would read beforehand.) Aziraphale felt it was quite a production for something that seemed so simple, but he went along with it.

They were an hour into spirited discussion when they were interrupted by the sound of someone rattling the doors. “I’ll check on that,” Aziraphale said, standing and walking to the front of the shop. He was surprised to see a familiar angular face peering into the window.

“Oh, it’s you!” Aziraphale didn’t even bother to hide the gleeful smile on his face. He opened the door and welcomed Crowley in. “Hello! It’s so lovely to see you back in town.” Aziraphale patted him on the forearm. Crowley was too surprised by Aziraphale’s enthusiasm to say anything until the angel was locking the doors behind him.

“What's all this?” Crowley said quietly, gesturing to the six men in the shop.

“This is,” Aziraphale turned and held out his hands, speaking in a low voice so as not to disturb the passionate discussion taking place, “The Gay Men's Book Club.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I was out a few evenings ago, and I overheard these gentlemen saying that they needed a location for their book club to meet up. Thought to myself, I have a bookshop, what better place to have such a meeting, and well, here we are! Every Tuesday at 7pm.” Aziraphale was beaming in a way Crowley hadn't seen in centuries, and Crowley nodded. Everyone had fallen silent to see who was at the door.

“Well, that's. That's great, Angel.” Crowley noticed two of the men in the circle shooting each other a knowing look. Aziraphale grabbed an extra chair and walked back, with Crowley following closely behind.

“Ah, let me introduce you all to my... partner, AJ,” Aziraphale said as he took Crowley's hand. Crowley's eyes went wide behind his glasses, but no one noticed. He froze for a moment. Partner? Aziraphale was introducing him as his partner to a room full of strangers; specifically a room full of gay men, for whom the word “partner” had a very specific association?

“Yep, that's me, AJ Crowley, at your service,” Crowley said, bowing a tiny bit.

“Nice to meet you, AJ, I’m Jimmy.” Everyone else took turns reintroducing themselves, and Crowley surprised himself by remembering everyone’s names as the book discussion wound down and the socializing began. Around 8:45pm, everyone started slowly making their way to the door, and Crowley and Aziraphale were alone by 9pm.

Aziraphale locked the bookshop doors, then threw his arms around Crowley and kissed him as though he was (as he actually was) welcoming him home from a business trip. The domesticity of it shocked Crowley, and he kept his eyes open for a good while, closing them only when Aziraphale began carding his fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck. Crowley hummed and leaned into the kiss, wrapping his long arms around the angel and stroking his back. Aziraphale finally broke away and looked at Crowley, cupping his face in those soft hands. None of it was what Crowley expected, and the tenderness of it all was overwhelming, but it was Aziraphale’s familiar smell that threatened to push him over the edge. Crowley leaned in and caught one more whiff of the delightful fragrance coming off the top of the angel’s head before reaching into his bag and pulling out one of the t-shirts he’d picked up in San Francisco.

“Know it's not really your style, but I,” Crowley ran his fingers over the shirt before bunching it up and handing to to Aziraphale. “I saw this and thought of you,” he said. Aziraphale took a look at the shirt and laughed a deep, hearty laugh from his belly.

“Thank you, Crowley. One can always use a nice soft shirt to sleep in,” Aziraphale said. Would Crowley get the hint? He sure hoped so. What would he have to do in order to get Crowley to spend the night with him, cuddled up with all those long, slender limbs around him? He was dying for an excuse to use his bed.

Crowley smiled. “Well. Good.” He sat down on the end of the sofa and Aziraphale circled the room for a bit before deciding to sit at the far end of the sofa instead of his usual chair.

“How was your trip?” Aziraphale asked, crossing one ankle over the other.

“Good, yeah. It was good.” Crowley fidgeted a bit with his belt and then grabbed one of the bottles of wine on the table. Aziraphale caught him looking around for glasses and miracled two up for him. When Crowley turned to him with a smirk that said ‘Really?’, Aziraphale just shrugged.

“Get up to anything terribly wicked?” Aziraphale wiggled a bit and raised his eyebrow and Crowley couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. It was true things between them had been strained for a while, however, they’d been through worse patches. Crowley felt a bit unsettled and confused, but he couldn’t deny how good it felt to be greeted with such open affection.

“Ahh, not really. Just work. You know how it goes,” Crowley said. “Hey, where are those records at?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale finished his first glass of wine in a single swig. “They’re in the study. Let me go get them.” He stood and walked over behind the wall. “They all arrived in wonderful condition,” he called out just before coming back carrying the box and the suitcase. Aziraphale set them down at Crowley’s feet.

“Thanks,” Crowley said. He opened the box of records he’d been gifted and began thumbing through. He put on a Delfonics album, then one from MFSB, then some Billy Paul. The wine kept flowing freely, and eventually the conversation began to smooth out. Crowley stretched out on the sofa and let Aziraphale do most of the talking. He was feeling a lot more at ease, but he wasn't ready to share all the details of his weekend in San Francisco just yet. And certainly not while as drunk as he was at the moment.

“Have you heard this one?” Aziraphale asked, handing him something labeled 'Promotional Single.' Crowley took his sunglasses off and set them on the table.

“No, don’t think so,” he said as he flipped over the record. “Look, just came out last month.” Crowley had learned to recognize the smoothness of the Philadelphia sound.

 _You'll never find_  
_as long as you live_  
_someone who loves you_  
_tender like I do_

Crowley continued drinking and humming along to the song for a while before noticing that Aziraphale had scooted over closer to him. The angel made a piss-poor attempt to sneakily put his hand on Crowley’s knee without the demon noticing.

 _Oh, I'm not bragging on myself, baby,_  
_but I'm the one who loves you_  
_And there's no one else_  
_No, no one else_

Crowley tried to set his glass down and nearly missed the table. He'd gotten drunk rather quickly. “Angel, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to make a move on me,” he said, with a swagger he'd never felt before. His experiences in San Francisco had given him a bit of a confidence boost, and all the alcohol certainly didn't hurt.

Aziraphale went entirely red, which Crowley found highly satisfying. Crowley had never inquired, but he'd long suspected Aziraphale had entertained many lovers over the years; he was familiar with the noises the angel made while eating, and the way he loved to run his fingers over the fine fabrics of his clothing. Aziraphale had always been a pleasure seeker. He cleared his throat and traced his fingers over the bony protrusion of Crowley’s kneecap. “Ahh, well, Crowley, I _did_ certainly miss you while you were away, of course, and-” Aziraphale eventually stopped trying to spin excuses out of thin air and tipped his head over so he could kiss Crowley, deeply, tenderly, reverently. Crowley felt as though the room was spinning a bit, or maybe that was the wine? He broke away and hiccuped a bit; some of his courage left him as he gazed at Aziraphale's perfect face and all those long-repressed feelings threatened to break free.

“Are you um, perhaps interested in trying something new tonight?” Aziraphale whispered. Heavens, he was drunk. “With me,” he clarified.

“Sssssure,” Crowley was also wasted, to the point of hissing some of his words; he’d allowed the wine to help him let loose. It was so good to be back around Aziraphale; he'd truly enjoyed his time in San Francisco, but it was nice to be able to do things like take off his sunglasses and feel the little scales forming on his feet and around his ribs. The only problem with hanging around humans; he could relax and let his guard down emotionally, but not physically, and both aspects eventually took their toll on Crowley. He scooted a bit closer to the angel.

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and guided it down his body to rest on his hips. “I have a bit of something, uh, different for you.”

“Is that so, Angel?” Crowley was so hard he could barely sit still, and he was willing his blasted body to keep it together this time. “Show me,” he growled into Aziraphale's ear. The angel shuddered beneath him, then unbuttoned his trousers and guided Crowley's hand between his legs. Crowley let out a noise of surprise as he felt the outer lips of Aziraphale’s cunt, so soft and already sopping wet.

“Oh,” Crowley said, his eyes going full yellow. “Oh. Never done this before.” He licked his lips and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his forked tongue. Crowley could taste Aziraphale in the air, the scent of his arousal soaking his pants, and probably his trousers too. Just the thought of it... He closed his eyes and moaned; Aziraphale caught the look of hunger all over Crowley’s face and a tiny squeak escaped his mouth. Crowley laughed and held up his fingers. “All right for me to...?” he asked as he stroked Aziraphale’s clothed thigh.

“Yes, yes, of course, yes,” Aziraphale couldn’t spit the words out fast enough, which thrilled Crowley. It was quite nice to be desired. Crowley snapped his fingers and Aziraphale was naked. But not Crowley. Aziraphale frowned. “You don’t want to be - oh!” He was interrupted by Crowley pressing his fingers deeper inside him. Fuck, that felt so good. Why hadn’t he tried this before with Crowley? Aziaphale felt self-conscious about the fact that he was undressed and Crowley wasn't; he began to worry that Crowley wasn't comfortable. What could he do to ease the situation? Aziraphale tried to pull Crowley's face up to kiss him, but Crowley was already moving down his body and... onto the floor?

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked.

“I just wanted to...” Crowley trailed off. He was on his knees, head resting on Aziraphale’s thigh, two fingers deep inside Aziraphale, pupils blown wide, just staring at his cunt. The angel felt his slick coating Crowley's fingers as they dipped in and out. “I wanted to look,” Crowley said sheepishly, so quietly Aziraphale almost didn't hear him.

“Can you come up here?” Aziraphale asked. “And hold me while you... I’d very much like to be close to you.” Crowley flicked his tongue out of his mouth, so very close to Aziraphale’s clit that he nearly discorporated, and then slithered up the length of Aziraphale’s body, removing his hand from where it was in between Aziraphale’s legs to steady himself. The angel gasped as Crowley nipped at his neck.

“Goodness, my dear,” Aziraphale said. Not that he minded; he was thrilled by the mark he could feel forming at the base of his neck. Crowley picked up on Aziraphale’s hairs standing on end and bit him on his left collarbone; Aziraphale cried out in pleasure and Crowley grinned, locking his glowing yellow eyes onto Aziraphale's.

“Yeah, okay?” Crowley asked as he ran his fingers between Aziraphale’s thighs, back down to where they were before. Where they should have stayed this whole time, Aziraphale thought.

“Oh, g-, oh heavens,” Aziraphale moaned. He let his head roll in towards Crowley, who took the opportunity to begin growling into Aziraphale’s ear.

“Show me,” Crowley demanded. Aziraphale put his hand overtop Crowley’s and moved his hips up to get his clit closer to Crowley’s long fingers.

“Just, keep on,” Aziraphale panted, “keep touching me. Here.” Crowley did as he was told and kept touching Aziraphale, slowly working his fingers back inside the angel and out again, then circling them slowly around his clit. Crowley started with the things he knew he liked, and watched Aziraphale, always eager to learn what pleased him, and how to do it better. He touched his thumb to Aziraphale's clit, starting to move faster, reaching his fingers just a touch further. Aziraphale cried out in pleasure and Crowley's cock practically jumped at the sound of it, at the feel of the angel's voice as it resonated against his body.

“Oh,” Crowley said, with his eyebrow arched up. “You like that, do you?” He wished he was a bit more sober; the room had gone a bit blurry and it was difficult to focus on the finer details of the gorgeous angel trembling in his arms.

“Yes, god – yes. Please, Crowley. Please,” Aziraphale begged, and Crowley nearly ruined his trousers right then and there as he rubbed up against Aziraphale's thigh. He threw his leg over Aziraphale and straddled him, eliciting a shocked gasp from the angel. God, he wished he'd been sporting a matching Effort, as he could have gotten himself off at least twice already without being so bloody obvious about it. Crowley rolled his hips up against the hand that was inside Aziraphale, adding a bit more pressure and sending his fingers deeper inside him. Aziraphale _shrieked_ , and for a moment Crowley was scared he'd hurt him. Just as he tried to back off, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hips with force and pulled him closer; his thighs were shaking and he was grinding his clit against Crowley's fingers. “Just – oh, just a bit more,” Aziraphale said. Crowley spent a moment too long looking at Aziraphale's shoulder and could no longer hold himself back from sinking down a solid bite on his collarbone. Aziraphale let out a noise that was halfway between a shriek and a scream (Crowley was a bit more prepared for it this time), then began babbling: “Oh, Crowley, you're so good – ah, _fuck_ – you're so good to me.” Crowley hid his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck and held him close. Aziraphale didn't immediately pull his hand off his clit (as Crowley had to) after an orgasm; rather, he reached down, held Crowley's hand still, and pushed it harder against him, legs jerking in the process. Aziraphale had reached his other hand up inside Crowley's shirt and the demon could feel the slight burn of a few scratch tracks down his back.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, rolling his head over to rest on his chest.

“Jusssst relax a bit, Angel,” Crowley whispered. He got off Aziraphale's lap, turned, and attempted to pour himself more wine, but couldn’t quite reach his glass, so he settled for drinking straight from the bottle.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again. The demon was quite proud to have reduced him to only being able to say his name; it lit something up deep inside of him, made him feel like draping his entire self across Aziraphale and laying claim to him.

“Do you want another one?” Crowley petted Aziraphale's hand. He thought of his own experience with Bob from a few days ago. Crowley knew this was just a physical thing between the two of them; surely, it didn’t mean much to Aziraphale, but he wanted to make it as good as possible for the angel. His reasoning being if it was good - like, really good - they'd end up doing it more often. Maybe Crowley would even get a chance to plant his face in between Aziraphale’s thighs for an hour or so; Crowley could still smell the scent of his slick in the air.

“No, I want to-” Aziraphale moved his body over to face Crowley, “-let me take care of you, Crowley,” he asked softly. Aziraphale put both his hands on Crowley's face and tried to look him in the eye, waiting for an answer, but the demon kept looking away, or down, so Aziraphale tried kissing him instead. He kissed his lips, then began working his way down Crowley's neck. Aziraphale slowly moved so he could kneel on the floor between Crowley's legs and was attempting to undo his snakeskin belt when Crowley suddenly pushed his hands away.

“Don't want it,” Crowley mumbled as he stood up, stumbled over the rug, and then toppled over, breaking his fall with his arms. “Don't want it if it's...” Aziraphale was now worried, and sobered up rapidly.

“Crowley! Crowley, are you all right, dear?” he asked as he knelt besides where Crowley was sprawled out on the floor.

“Mmmph, I'm fine, I'm fine,” Crowley said as he wiped a bit of drool from the side of his mouth. He reached for a newly-full bottle of wine and took a giant swig of it, then pushed off against Aziraphale to stand up.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked. “You want to... leave? I was hoping to...” he trailed off as he approached Crowley and wrapped his hands around his narrow waist. “I was hoping to return the favor.”

“Don't want it,” Crowley repeated, holding his hand up towards Aziraphale. “Not if it's... casual.”

Aziraphale felt the bottom drop out of his entire existence. “If it's what?” he asked softly, hoping against hope that he hadn't heard it wrong.

“Don't want it if it doesn't mean anything.” Crowley took Aziraphale's hands and removed them from his waist. “Don't want it, it's not casual. I'm not. I'm not casual, Angel,” he was unable to string a complete sentence together but the message seemed clear. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, trying desperately to soothe the situation, ”can you sober up so we can talk, please?”

“It's ok, s'ok Angel, doesn't matter, I'll come back another time,” Crowley strutted towards the door, so drunk he was walking with one foot crossing in front of the other, weaving like he was skiing slalom.

Aziraphale snapped and locked the bookshop doors. “For the love of God, Crowley. You're not driving home.” Crowley began swaying and was just about to topple over when Aziraphale rushed over and caught him.

“Okay, yeah, I won't drive. Doesn't matter though.”

Aziraphale blinked away the tears that were beginning to well up in his eyes and extended out his wings. “I'm taking you to your flat,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Crowley.

“No, it's okay, I could use. Can walk. Want to walk. Think.”

Aziraphale brushed Crowley's hair off his forehead. He was sweaty and flushed, almost feverish. “It's not safe for you to be out like this. You can think when you're at home.” His voice grew more resolute. “I'm going to take you home,” he said firmly.

Crowley was smashed, absolutely out of his mind, but he still recognized Aziraphale as a source of comfort and nuzzled his face into the crook of Aziraphale's neck.

“That's not hurting you, is it, darling?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley probably wouldn't remember any of this; he found it easier to dish out these words, these little expressions of affection, without the fear of rejection. He ran his hand over Crowley’s face, feeling the stubble starting to come in on the jagged edges of his jaw, cheekbone, and chin.

“Mmmm... nope,” Crowley said. “Not hurting me at all, Angel.”

Aziraphale wrapped his wings around Crowley. “I'm taking you home.” He blinked and got them over to Crowley’s flat. By the time they were inside, Crowley had fallen asleep and the entire weight of his head was hanging completely in the crook of Aziraphale’s arm. He carried Crowley into his bedroom and laid him carefully on the giant, modern four poster bed.

He looked down at Crowley's thin frame; he always forgot how slight the demon was until he was like this, usually when he was asleep. Aziraphale removed Crowley's boots and set them neatly by the nightstand, then tucked Crowley into bed, pulling the blanket up over him. He reached under Crowley's head to fluff the pillow a tiny touch and allowed himself to run his fingers through Crowley's gorgeous copper hair and peck him on the forehead.

“Mmmmf, won’t - come here,” Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders and attempting to pull him down into a kiss.

“Crowley, what?”

“Come on, Angel. Just get on me. You can-“ Crowley hiccuped, “-ride me. Or whatever you want. Come on, do it. I’m fine, I’m-”

“Crowley, dear, you’re very, very drunk.” Aziraphale gently took Crowley’s hands from his hips and laid them back on the bed.

“Doesn’t matter.” It was at least the third time Crowley had said it tonight, and Aziraphale’s heart shattered a bit more each time the words came out of his mouth.

“It does matter, love,” it slipped out of Aziraphale’s mouth before he could think about it - would have to wait until later - “and we can talk about it once you’ve sobered up.” He pulled the blankets up over Crowley again and gently tucked him in.

“Fine,” Crowley said, sighing and bringing his arm up to cover his head.

“Sleep well, my darling,” Aziraphale lost the battle against the first tear to emerge from the corner of his eye, and it slowly tracked its way down his cheek. He locked Crowley’s door behind him, then jiggled the handle, just to make sure. Aziraphale plodded down the sidewalk with his hands clasped behind his back. Clearly, Crowley was not comfortable with the way things were going between them; he realized (belatedly) that he’d hurt Crowley quite deeply by the way he’d gone about trying to fix things between them. How ironic. Aziraphale felt the familiar spiral of shame and panic begin to creep up on him. He was going to have to set this right, and he felt like he was just now learning exactly how much work that would require.

* * *

 

 

Crowley didn’t wake up until the afternoon, and when he did, it was with the worst fucking headache he'd ever had in his life. He sobered up, but not before stumbling into the loo and vomiting in the sink. What the hell had he gotten himself into last night? He had no memory of how he'd gotten home, and when he finally was able to look out the window into the sun, the Bentley was nowhere to be found. He saw his keys on the counter, grabbed them, and was one step away from the door when the phone rang. Maybe it was Aziraphale; maybe he'd left the Bentley at the shop.

“Yeah, hello?”

“AJ! Aaaaaaah!” It was Donna, who screamed so loudly into the phone, she almost caused Crowley to drop it.

“Oh my god, hey! How are you?” Crowley was never able to keep the glee out of his voice when he talked to his friend. His best friend?

“I’m in London! I want to see you!”

“My favorite words,” Crowley said. “I’m fucking hungover at the minute, but-“

“I know what you need,” Donna said. “You need a hair of the dog. Come to my hotel. Let’s go out.”

“All right. Just need to find my car...”

“Oh, so it was that good of a night, huh?”

“Apparently.” Crowley groaned. “I have a _headache_ in my _eye_.”

“Head over and you can tell me everything.”

“Wait - what day is it?”

“It’s Thursday,” Donna said matter-of-factly.

“Shit,” Crowley said. “I have to do my radio show tonight and I am not fucking prepared for it. Can you just meet me there? I can order us some takeaway.”

“Hmm. All right.”

“So I'll see you there?” Crowley asked. “I gotta get my set together.”

“Yeah, I'll see you there. Is it okay if I bring a friend?”

“Sure, yeah, whatever you want.”

Crowley hung up the phone and began frantically throwing records into his bag. If the past few months were any indication, there was probably a stack of records sitting for him at Roger's flat. He could take what he had, play the new stuff, and it would probably be fine. Didn't have to be his best show ever, he just needed to get through it.

* * *

Thursday 1 July 1976  
Radio Invicta  
(undisclosed location)  
London

Crowley stumbled into the radio station with a lingering headache and the cloud of a bad mood hanging over him. He grumbled as he made himself some coffee and began going throught the mail. Crowley tossed on an old favorite while he opened up several parcels. He saved the largest one for last; it was postmarked with an address from Chicago. The box was packed to the gills with records, with a note taped to one of them:

'Hear you got a DJ night.  
Thought you might want to hear some of Chicago's Best

Stay well, Barry'

Crowley smiled as he began stacking up the new records on the table. He'd need to send a thank you note for this.

 _Oh, I have kissed a few_  
_Tell you, a few have kissed me too_  
_I guess I'm just a stubborn kind of fella,_  
_Got my mind made up to love you – whoa!_  
_Everybody say, (yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah)_

Crowley thought he heard a knock on the door, but the track was getting ready to switch over. Just as he was about to change over to the next song, he heard the door open. It was probably Roger coming home, he thought, until he turned and saw Donna standing in the kitchen, with... Freddie Mercury?

“Heeeeeeeey!” Donna yelled as she ran straight for Crowley and jumped onto him, nearly knocking him over.

“Hey yourself,” Crowley said. Then he pushed her soft, poufy hair back so he could whisper in her ear. “Did you bring Freddie _fucking_ Mercury to my set tonight?”

“Surprise!” she said before breaking down into giggles. Crowley rolled his eyes and turned to greet Freddie _fucking_ Mercury.

“Pleasure to see you,” Crowley said, extending his hand. “Please let me know if there's anything specific you want to hear.”

Freddie smiled broadly and clasped both his hands around Crowley's. “Oh, AJ. I'm just here for whatever you want to play.” Oh, great. Now it would be entirely up to him if he fucked up his entire set tonight. Crowley looked through the records he'd just gotten from Barry and realized most of them were from Chicago's Chess label. He found something that looked interesting and queued it up; he'd been on the air for a good twenty minutes now and hadn't said a thing, so it was probably time to do the station ID and all that. Crowley cleared his throat and pulled the microphone towards him.

“I'm your guardian of the groove, AJ Crowley, and we're taking a trip through Chicago tonight, I received a lovely gift of several Chess records in the mail this week, and I'm thrilled to share them with you. This is Billy Stewart, and you're listening to Radio Invicta.” A soft piano intro with some muted trumpets started off the song, and Crowley set down the headphones.

 _If you're gonna hurt me, baby_  
_If you're gonna-na-na make-a-me blue_  
_If you plan to break my heart_  
_with a love that's untrue_

“Oh, this is good,” Freddie said. “This is really good.”

 _Let me explain, before I start out_  
_I want a true girl that I won't doubt_  
_So, if that's what you plan to do,_  
_You better count me out (count me, count me, baby, you can just count me out)_  
_Count me out (count me, count me out)_

“Yeah, it is,” Crowley said, already looking through for the next record. “Friend of mine sent these to me, haven't heard any of them before so. Guess we're gonna see what's in the stack.” Freddie had moved over to look at the records and the entire side of his body was up against Crowley's. He smelled incredible; Crowley licked his lips and picked up hints of clove, tuberose, and sandalwood. Wait a second – Freddie _fucking_ Mercury was sitting close enough to touch. Crowley began overthinking the entire thing and his hands started to shake. Luckily, Donna was nothing if not reliable.

“So, the trip out of town. Sounds like it was good,” she said, plopping down in a chair next to him.

“Yep. Did a session in Philadelphia and then went to San Francisco.” It felt so weird to talk about all these small mundane things while one of the biggest superstars in the entire country was just sitting at the table with him, snapping to the music like it was the best thing he'd ever heard.

“You were in San Francisco?” Freddie asked. “Were you at... Gay Freedom Day?”

Crowley nodded. “I was.”

“Well, how was it?” Donna asked.

“It was...” Crowley trailed off as he tried to think of how to describe it all. He would, of course, tell Donna the entire story when they were alone, but being in the same room as Freddie fucking Mercury was causing his hands to become clammy. “It was a really great time, yeah. Never been to anything like it,” he said honestly.

“That's excellent,” Freddie said, patting him on the back, then letting his hand linger there. “I hope to get there someday.” He began gently tapping his fingers on Crowley's back, and the demon thought he might pass out.

“Oh!” Crowley exclaimed and leapt up. “Almost to the next song.” He couldn't help but notice Freddie's gaze following him as he left; he swore he felt his eyes roaming his entire body. Crowley put on aTony Clarke single and headed to the kitchen. “Does anyone want coffee?” he called out, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn't too obvious.  
“I'd love that,” Freddie said.

“Me too,” Donna added.

Crowley started the coffee, then put on another single, then brought the coffee to Donna and Freddie, then ran a jingle and switched the record. He kept roaming around the flat for the vast majority of his set, unable to sit still, but doing his best to keep up with the easy conversation Donna and Freddie were having. Made sense, they were two extremely famous people and he was, well... a demon faking a career as a music producer.

He was snapped out of it by a tap on his shoulder. “AJ, did you hear me?” Donna was standing behind him with her arms crossed.

“Uh, no.”

“Freddie wants us to come over while I'm still in town,” she said, cocking her head in Freddie's direction.

“Oh?”

“Please. I'd love to have you come over with some records.” Freddie caught the look on Crowley's face and quickly altered his statement. “If you want to. Only if you want to. You're welcome to come without them.”

“No, it's fine, it's fine,” Crowley said. “I get sent records all the time.” He gestured to the recently opened stack of mail. “Would love to come by.”

“And,” Donna raised her eyebrows and Crowley was sure he knew what she was going to say, “you should bring your partner this time.” Oh, Crowley was going to have to have a word with her about this in private...

“Yes, your _partner_ ,” Freddie said with a wink and a smile. “Won't you invite him over, too? You can play records for us, we'll all do takeaway or something simple, lots of wine.”

Crowley did his best to smile. “That sounds lovely.”

“You free tomorrow?” Freddie asked. “Whenever you want to come over.”

“Absolutely.” Of course Crowley was free, he was almost always free. Now to find out if Aziraphale would be able to come. Oh, and if he would stand him up at the last minute this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh I think Aziraphale's gonna finally meet Donna! Sorry to leave it all on a cliffhanger but once again, I spit out 6k words and here we are. Hopefully will update in a few days! <3
> 
> I am a huge Bruce Campbell fan and the line "I have a headache in my eye" is one of my favorite lines from the entirety of the Burn Notice series hahahahah. Couldn't help myself from stealing it. 
> 
> Chess Records is a famous Rhythm & Blues record label from Chicago. Get into it!!! Get hip to it! The last few chapters have been pretty light on the music so I added a bunch of bonus Chess tracks because holy shit, they're all just so good and I want to share them.


	26. Oh, Please Don't Care What My Friends Say About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets Donna, Freddie, and Mary at a small, informal party at Freddie's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to @trickshire for being a great friend and incredible person to talk through stories with - I'm sorry this took so long but I had to throw away and start over. Anyhow. We're working through some little bits and drabs here but we are continuing to move forward! <3

Friday 2 July 1976  
Mayfair

Crowley picked up the phone and put it back down three times before he was able to work up the courage to actually dial the bookshop. What was the point? Aziraphale wasn't going to go to an event with him, and even if he agreed, there was no guarantee he'd show up. But, he did have to at least ask. He would ask, and then he'd come up with another good excuse about why his 'partner' wasn't there. Crowley chewed on his lip and then picked up the phone. Best to do it now, get the rejection over with, and then move on to the daunting task of selecting a playlist for Freddie _fucking_ Mercury. Crowley thought about last night at Radio Invicta and felt a bit of a quiver running up the side of his neck. Surely Freddie Mercury hadn't been flirting with him; that was just how he was, apparently. Yes, that was it. He was just a friendly bloke, who happened to be one of the famous singers in the country at the moment, and Crowley was, as always, a nervous disaster.

“Hello, is anyone there?” Aziraphale's voice snapped Crowley out of distraction.

“Yeah, sorry, Angel, it's me,” Crowley said.

“I hoped it was you. How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” Why was Aziraphale so worried? Crowley rubbed his forehead and remembered yesterday's horrid hangover.

“Have you been sleeping this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Crowley lied, “Sleep, once you have it, you need it. You know.” Aziraphale made a little tsking sound on the other end of the phone and Crowley's chest tightened a bit at the familiarity of it all.

“So you say. Well, I'm glad to hear from you. Had me a bit worried there,” Aziraphale said.

“So uh,” Crowley paused and thought about how to word the ask. He didn't want it to seem like it was important (it wasn't) or that he cared about it (even though he did). “A friend of mine is in town, and I got asked to play some music at a party, thing, small thing tonight. Not even sure what I'm going to play,” hellfire, now he was just rambling, “wanted to see if you wanted to come with. If you're free.”

“Well, thank you for the invitation-” Aziraphale said. Crowley coughed and prepared himself for the inevitable rejection that was surely coming.

“-I'd very much enjoy it.” Crowley pulled the phone away from his ear and looked through the speaker holes as though an explanation might be hidden inside.

“You... what?”

“I would very much enjoy going with you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley began shaking his leg nervously.

“Well, uh. All right. if you want to go, I'll need you to meet me here first. Don't think I’m supposed to splash the address around.” There was the out; Aziraphale wasn't going to show, but at least Crowley would be leaving directly from his house rather than waiting outside the bookshop like a lost puppy.

“All right. What time, dear?” Aziraphale asked in the same tone of voice he always used when confirming plans.

“Come over round eight,” Crowley said, trying very hard to be casual.

“I’ll see you then, dear.”

Crowley hung up the phone and rubbed his temples for a minute. This whole situation was getting a bit odd, but he couldn't stop the little tremor in his hands at Aziraphale's freely given endearments. He sighed, bent over and stretched so his hands were resting flat on the floor, then cracked his neck and set about picking out records for the evening ahead.

* * *

 

It was ten to eight by the time Crowley had finished loading up his crates of records. He was sure he was overpacking, but... this was Freddie _fucking_ Mercury's event. If he couldn't impress him with a second round of beginner's luck, he would at least have to keep the same standard from his last DJ set there.

Crowley was in the plant room, pinching a Draecena leaf in between his fingers, when he thought he heard a knock at the door. He paused; just as he was about to continue his misting, he heard a slightly louder knock and headed towards the door. He opened it to reveal Aziraphale, dressed in a white button-down shirt, beige and tan paisley waistcoat, and a cravat that was a bit more colorful than the angel's usual attire, something soft and silky in colors of magenta, lime green, pink, orange, and yellow. Crowley was stunned into silence. He really hadn’t expected Aziraphale to show.

“Hello,” he said. “I realize I’m a bit early.” The angel had his chin slightly tipped down and was looking at Crowley through his silvery lashes.

Crowley stood and blinked for a moment before attempting to speak and making a sound like 'mmmrph.' He opened the door.

“Not sure if you've been here since the living room's turned into a record shop, but. Come on in,” Crowley beckoned.

“Ah, you don't remember, then,” Aziraphale said in a low voice. “I had to bring you back here Tuesday night. After...”

“Oh. Erm. I didn't.” Crowley was a bit embarrassed. “I'm – I had a bit too much the other night, yeah. Sorry.” He turned his back. “Just about ready here.” Crowley grabbed an Issac Hayes record and popped it into his bag. That would have to do; he'd already packed enough music for a week. Crowley stacked the crates up, and they headed out.

* * *

  
The Bentley was aware of Aziraphale's presence and kept a respectable speed the entire journey. It wasn't long before they were on Holland Road, parking in the only spot available, right in front of Freddie Mercury's flat.

“Can I give you a hand?” Aziraphale asked after he stepped out of the Bentley, gesturing to the heavy crates in the back seat.

“Yeah, sure, Angel, just -”

They were interrupted by a high-pitched screeching from the porch. “AJ!” A Black woman in a sparkly periwinkle dress ran down the walkway, tackled Crowley, and jumped into his arms. And Crowley was... smiling? Aziraphale watched as Crowley spun her around with his arms wrapped around her; the crinkle lines around his eyes were only visible to someone who could see through the sides of Crowley's sunglasses (a new pair, covered in black and maroon jewels; not exactly Crowley's style, but Aziraphale hadn't asked about them yet). Eventually, Crowley set the woman down; she put her hand in the crook of Crowley's arm with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, and they turned to Aziraphale.

“This is my friend Donna,” Crowley said, gesturing to her as though she were a work of art. She was strikingly beautiful, with bright brown eyes, arched eyebrows, and high cheekbones.

“Hello, I'm Ezra...” Aziraphale was ready to add the words 'AJ's partner' when he saw the sour look on Donna's face.

“Hello,” she said coolly. She shook his hand briefly; Aziraphale was perplexed. He hadn't met her before, had he?

Crowley was still grinning, looking down on Donna with such fondness Aziraphale's chest began twisting. “Donna and I-”

“We get into a whole lot of trouble together,” Donna said, still hanging onto Crowley's arm, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes.

“So I've heard,” Aziraphale lied and tried to flash Crowley a pointed look; it was ignored.

“AJ is just. What can I say? He's the absolute best friend I've ever had.” Crowley's mouth turned up in a smile and he put his arm around Donna and squeezed her close.

“Oh, stop that, you,” Crowley said, still smiling fondly at her.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you,” Aziraphale said, forcing his mouth upwards into a smile.

“Is Peter in town?” Crowley asked Donna as he started hauling crates of records out of the Bentley.

“Oh, no, he's still in Munich. Busy with work.”

“Ahh, that's a shame,” Crowley said. “You'll have to give him my regards.”

“Or we could get drunk and call him later.” Crowley cocked his head and looked at Donna; then the two of them burst into riotous laughter. Aziraphale did his best to keep the smile plastered on his face. It seemed Crowley and Donna were quite close indeed. Donna grabbed a crate of records and Aziraphale reached for it.

“I can help with that, Donna,” he offered, but Donna simply turned her back and began walking towards the house. Crowley already had the other crate in his hands, so Aziraphale put his hands behind his back and followed the two of them up the stairs into the flat. Crowley and Donna set their crates down and walked towards the kitchen.

“Donna, dear!” Aziraphale watched as a man in a silk floral robe planted a kiss on Donna's cheek, then turned his attention to Crowley. “The man himself! AJ, pleasure to see you.”

“You're too kind, Freddie,” Crowley said.

Freddie grinned at Crowley as though he hadn't seen him in years. “Thank you for agreeing to do this on such short notice.” Crowley extended his hand, and Freddie took it, then pulled him in for a hug. “You remember Mary, yes?” Freddie finally let go of Crowley and draped his arm over the blonde woman he'd met at the Christmas party.

“Absolutely, I do,” Crowley gave Mary a peck on the cheek. “Lovely to see you again.”

“And I don't believe you've introduced us to your...?” Freddie let the phrase hang in the air.

“My partner, this is my partner, Ezra,” Crowley stammered.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said; he fidgeted with the chain in his vest pocket while watching to see if anyone would reach for his hand. No one did.

“Wonderful to have you here, Ezra, I'm Freddie, you just met Mary, and...” a very large ginger Persian cat sidled up against Aziraphale's calf and the angel flinched in surprise. Freddie laughed heartily. “That's Dorothy. She doesn't bite. Unlike the _rest_ of us.” Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up in the moment of silence before everyone in the kitchen dissolved into laughter; the angel joined in awkwardly after a beat.

“Seems like things are continuing to go quite well for you, yeah?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Freddie said. “Couldn't be more grateful.” For all his theatrics, Crowley hardly knew anyone more modest about their success, and he respected Freddie deeply for it.

Donna cleared her throat. “Will you be heading back to the studio soon?”

“Yes, we're starting recording in a few weeks actually. And there are plans for a large concert in Hyde Park in the fall.” Freddie opened up a cabinet and took down several glasses in various sizes. “But enough about me, I think it's time to make drinks and get the DJ set up.” Everyone in the room murmured in agreement; Donna put a hand on Crowley's arm.

“Do you need help setting up?” she asked quietly.

Crowley shook his head. “No, thanks, love. I got it.”

Donna left her hand where it was as she followed him out of the room despite Crowley's insistence he didn't need any help. Aziraphale noted how many people had been touching Crowley, and an uncomfortable, bitter heat started to rise in his chest. He kept his focus locked on the large Persian cat rubbing her head against his calf, and attempted to bite back the envy he felt hearing Crowley dishing out endearments so freely. To people he barely knew, none the less! They'd known one another for a couple thousand years, one would think... Aziraphale let out a small huff and realized everyone had headed out to the living room, leaving him alone in the kitchen with Dorothy. He decided to dish out a few more scratches to her chin as he attempted to collect himself. She was quite a lovely cat...

* * *

 

Crowley was doing his final check of the turntables when he felt a hand on his shoulder and inhaled the familiar warm aroma of clove and sandalwood.

“You all set over here, AJ?” Freddie's upper lip curled up to reveal a broad and beautiful smile. Crowley thought he might discorporate.

“Yup, yup, everything's set. All set. Great. Good to go,” he kept stringing words together and letting them go. Freddie laughed.

“Ah, don't be nervous,” he said, lifting his drink to Crowley before turning and walking away.

A vibrant brass intro kicked off the first song of the night, and Crowley began lining up the next dozen songs.

 _I got a girl in New York City_  
_Sure is pretty, all right_  
_I got a fox in old Paris_  
_Stone crazy bout me, all right_

 _They said my lovin' is good as gold_  
_Stories about me are constantly told_  
_I'm a legend in my own time – ooooow!_

Freddie raised his drink and winked at Crowley from across the room. Crowley gave a little wave and an awkward salute back. Now he just needed to make sure the rest of the evening's music didn't suck...

 _I'm an international_  
_Highly fashionable_  
_Very respectable playboy_  
_Ooh, yeah_

He waved Donna over. “I desperately need a _fucking_ drink,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Is that so?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yes. What are you making for everyone?”

“My secret. Lots of gin. Lots of vodka. Bit of something sour. You want one?”

“Please,” Crowley said as he bent down to flip through records. The next few songs went by in a blur; after about a half hour he’d settled his nerves down a bit and was feeling confident in his music selections. He scanned the room to find Aziraphale. Crowley finally spotted the angel sitting in a chair in the corner, thumbing through a book, oblivious to the people milling around him. At one point, someone bent down to try to get his attention, and Aziraphale proceeded to wave them off. Hardly surprising that Aziraphale picked up a book, but the dour look on his face was rather out of place. Crowley was puzzled; usually Aziraphale was the life of a party. He couldn’t remember many times he’d seen Aziraphale this uncomfortable in a social situation. What was going on with him lately? Crowley looked down at the turntable and had just enough time to throw on the next track.

 _All the sweetest sounds_  
_You’ll ever hear_  
_Is what I whisper_  
_In your ear, I wanna make it perfectly clear_

He took a moment to focus; he couldn’t let whatever was going on with Aziraphale affect the music, of all things. Donna appeared with a glass of her ‘secret recipe’. Crowley took the drink with a grateful nod and looked around to try to find Aziraphale. “Have you seen, eh...”

“Ezra? He headed out to the balcony for another smoke, I think,” Donna said. She leaned in and lowered her voice a bit. “Is he always like this?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“You know, sort of. I don't know. Seems like he doesn't want to be here,” Donna said.

Crowley took a large swig of his drink. “Yeah, he's uh. He's – what do they call it? - definitely a bit of a homebody.”

Donna said nothing, just looked at Crowley over the rim of her drink.

Crowley shrugged. “Hey, I didn't even think he was gonna show up.”

Donna smiled. “New shades. I like them a lot. Quite fancy. Where'd you get them?” she asked, reaching up a finger to touch the bejeweled frames.

“Bob got them for me,” Crowley said quietly.

“He _what_?” Donna spilled a bit of her drink.

“Yeah, I would have been able to _tell_ you about that earlier if you hadn't invited Freddie _fucking_ Mercury to the station last night,” Crowley hissed. “A _lot_ is going on right now!”

“AJ,” Donna's face instantly softened. “Are you all right?”

“I guess so?”

Donna pursed her lips. “Okay, well. You can tell me all about it over lunch tomorrow. Sound good?”

Crowley nodded. “I'm gonna go – check on –“ he tilted his head towards the balcony where Aziraphale was standing, “-check on him.” He slid the balcony door open and stepped out into the warm night. Aziraphale was staring out at the lights of the city and didn't turn around. Crowley sidled up next to him and nudged him gently with his elbow.

“Haven't seen you smoking in a long time, Angel,” he said softly.

“It's true. Quality's just not what it used to be.” Aziraphale sighed. “Really can't beat the early 18th century. What a time...”

“You want a drink?”

“Not at the moment.” That was unusual. Crowley had only seen Aziraphale turn down a drink a handful of times.

“You sure?” Crowley wasn't entirely sure why Aziraphale was so uncomfortable, but he was going to try to make tonight as enjoyable for the angel as he could.

“I'll head inside for a drink soon, Crowley.” Aziraphale took a long drag off his cigarette and turned his focus back to the view.

“Uh, all right. Gotta get, switch the song,” Crowley muttered as he turned and headed back into the living room. Once behind the turntables, he picked out a single Freddie Perrin had given him. A simple drum fill and fuzzed out guitar gave way to a beat that sounded a lot like Detroit. Freddie strolled over and set his drink down next to Crowley's.

“Who is this?” Freddie asked.

“It’s Dee Edwards, pretty sure she’s from Detroit.”

“Never heard her before.”

Crowley nodded. “Not surprised, I don’t think too many of these were pressed.”

“Oh,” Freddie’s eyebrows shot up. “How’d you get your hands on it?”

“Do you know Freddie Perrin?” Freddie (Mercury) shook his head. Crowley continued. “He’s a producer, worked a lot with the Miracles. I did some work for him on the latest Tavares project and, yeah. He’s a real great guy, absolute riot. He gave this to me.”

“Well. Hardly a surprise everyone wants to give you gifts,” Freddie drawled out the word as he ran his fingers over Crowley’s forearm.

“Buhhhh,” Crowley stammered.

 _Why can’t you see it in my eyes_  
_My love for you is real_  
_It’s time for you to wake up_  
_And hear my strong appeal_

Freddie laughed heartily. “Oh, you sweet thing. No need to be so nervous.”

Crowley’s mouth felt like it was full of tissue paper. “Right, I’m not-“

“I heard you were you know. Open, as it were.” Freddie took his hand off Crowley’s arm and picked up his drink. “Turns out, that’s my situation as well.”

Crowley nodded. “It’s all a bit complicated,” he managed to spit out.

“Isn’t it always? I just felt I should be... forward with you. I find you so fascinating.” Freddie stared at him with his enchanting deep brown eyes.

Crowley looked up and caught Aziraphale staring across the room at him with a distinctive expression; the sort of expression he usually saw on the angel's face whenever someone came into the bookshop and attempted to (heaven forbid) purchase a book. Downright covetous. Crowley liked to tease him about it.

“You know, most humans think you're _selling_ the books, Angel,” he'd said sometime in the early 1960's. Aziraphale had looked at him over the rims of his round glasses and narrowed his eyes. Crowley laughed. “Thou shalt not covet, Aziraphale,” he'd continued in his lispiest impersonation of Heaven's finest.

“I'll covet if I so choose,” Aziraphale had said without skipping a beat, his eyes locked completely on Crowley's; something about it sent a shiver down Crowley's spine which had remained unexamined until this very moment.

Freddie noticed Crowley staring off into space and followed his line of sight over to Aziraphale, who was just all out _glaring_ now, and Freddie let out a muffled “oooooh!”

“Your partner seems like the jealous type,” Freddie whispered in Crowley’s ear. “Just know the offer stands anytime, yeah?” He sashayed across the room, his long floral robe trailing behind him; when he passed Aziraphale, he made a rather dramatic show of blowing air kisses to the angel, who at this point looked ready to rip off his cravat and make a scene.

Crowley stared down at the record spinning at 33 1/3 revolutions per minute and bit the inside of his cheek. What the fuck had he gotten himself into, exactly? Donna tapped him on the shoulder and handed him another drink.   
  
"Your timing is impeccable," he said as he tossed it back. 

* * *

 

The party tonight was a much smaller gathering than Christmas; besides Donna, Mary, and Freddie, there were only five or six other people present, and things had calmed down a lot earlier. It was just past eleven, and Freddie had said Crowley could wrap it up whenever he wanted. He put on one last song and began packing up.

 _Wherever we walk_  
_With love we can do magic_  
_When things go wrong_  
_We're always understanding_

Crowley had almost all the records back in his crates by the time the song faded, and he heard something from the kitchen that made his eyes go wide. He stumbled into the room to see a very red-faced Aziraphale engaged in a rather 'spirited conversation,' one volume notch short of a full-on shouting match, with Freddie, who had a Persian cat draped across his shoulders like a shawl and was holding a half-empty bottle of wine in one hand and a … _sword_ in the other? What the fuck...?

“Oh, for heaven's sake, you old-fashioned, utterly _dramatic_ queen,” Freddie said, taking a swig of wine from the bottle, “I'm not going to steal your lover boy away from you.” He batted his eyelashes demurely at Aziraphale, and the angel's expression softened a bit. “Unless you want me to. Or unless you'd like to come along as well. We could all have-”

“That's really quite-” Aziraphale couldn't get the words out, but Crowley noticed that he was standing in a defensive position. Sure, to humans he looked like the equivalent of a comfortable old sofa, but Aziraphale had been a warrior. Still was. Crowley raised his hand to try to say something, and then Freddie fucking Mercury, the trickster that he was, dropped his sword and collapsed into laughter, leaning on the counter for support.

“Oh, AJ,” Freddie said. “What an absolute riot! Every time you're here, it's always such a good time. Would you like another drink? We've moved on to... what have we moved on to, Mary?”

“Tequila!” Mary said cheerfully, pouring shots on the kitchen table. 

“Everyone's really drunk! If you can't tell!” said Donna, who then leaned over to whisper into Crowley's ear. “Wild shit.”

“I think we're going to get going, actually,” Crowley said. “Ezra has to open the shop early in the mornings.” He glanced at Aziraphale; the red in his cheeks had faded, replaced by an utterly grateful look on his face.

“Oh,” Freddie said, “that's such a shame. Perhaps another time I can convince you to stay later.” He put his hand on Crowley's shoulder for the thirteenth time that night (according to Aziraphale's calculations), and the angel gritted his teeth together.

“Perhaps,” Crowley said. “You know where to find me. And you-” he turned his attention to Donna, who interrupted him-

“-I'll walk you downstairs.” Aziraphale made a dramatic point of picking up one of the record crates before anyone else could get their hands on them; Crowley picked up the other, and Donna grabbed his bag. The three of them headed down the stairs and out to the sidewalk.

“I'm sorry you can't stay later,” Donna said. “But I'll see you tomorrow for lunch, yeah?”

“Of course, call me in the morning.” Crowley opened the door and placed the record crates in one at a time, then gestured for Aziraphale to climb in.

“It's been a pleasure meeting you, Donna,” Aziraphale leaned in and attempted to give Donna a kiss on the cheek; it ended in an awkward sort of side-to-side half embrace. He stepped gingerly into the car and waited for Crowley to close the door.

“I'll see you tomorrow, love,” Crowley called out to Donna as he walked over to the driver's side, and hopped in. As they drove off, Aziraphale directed his gaze out the window and tried to tamp down the acidic jealousy that kept bubbling up in his chest.

Crowley drove a bit faster on the way to the bookshop than he had on the way to the party. The tension between them hung heavy in the air until the demon pulled up to his usual spot on the curb and let out a heavy sigh. Aziraphale turned his head to see Crowley's arms slung over the steering wheel, his bendy body slouching more than usual.

“Look, I – um. I didn't realize this, uh,” Crowley paused and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. “I guess this whole sort of thing really isn't your scene, I – I'm. I won't force you to tag along on any more of these-”

“Force me?” Aziraphale asked, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “My dear, you didn't force me to do anything tonight, I wanted to come.”

Crowley scoffed. “Well, it sure didn't seem like it.”

“What – I.” Aziraphale let out an indignant huff and crossed his arms. “That's quite an assumption,” he lied, shamelessly.

“An _assumption_ ,” Crowley pulled his sunglasses down his nose and stared at Aziraphale with eyebrows raised. “Angel, you looked more at ease chained up in the dungeon of the Bastille than you did tonight in Freddie Mercury's posh flat.”

Aziraphale made a strangled sort of noise deep in his throat; he had indeed been more at ease in that dungeon than at the party tonight, but that had much more to do with his proximity to Crowley and the excitement of the chains and the overall vibe, and -

“It's all right, really,” Crowley said. “I know you. If it weren't for fine dining, you'd never leave the shop.” Something about the resigned tone of Crowley's voice combined with the fact that Crowley had pulled off his sunglasses and started cleaning them as though... Oh. Oh, no. Aziraphale started to put the pieces together. Crowley hadn't even expected him to come, and now, Crowley didn't expect him to ever show up like this for him again. He'd been so uncomfortable, anxious, and self-centered to even realize it until this very moment.

“Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry. I had – well. As you've noticed, tonight wasn't my best night,” Aziraphale looked at Crowley with pleading eyes. “I think maybe, perhaps it was just a bit much to meet... so many people at once. With all the noise,” he gestured around. Crowley tilted his head to the side. “The music was wonderful,” Aziraphale quickly corrected himself. “I do love listening to your selections.”

“Mmmmph, well. Thanks.” Crowley said, sitting up a bit taller in his seat, still not facing the angel.

“Crowley, I do - would you please look at me, dear?” Aziraphale asked politely. Crowley set down his sunglasses and turned his body to face the angel. “I do want to see what you've been up to all this time. And, all the people you know, they're. I can tell they're important to you. And maybe, I'm not sure – I didn't know exactly what to expect, from what you've told me about the work you've been doing, and, ah, perhaps another time-” Aziraphale felt his desperation modulating his tone of voice up a half octave; he paused, gripped his thighs for a moment and then continued. “Perhaps at another time, the next time, I might be in a better state. I – I would like the chance to. You know. Another time.” He looked at Crowley with a truly contrite expression on his face.

Aziraphale's behavior had been confounding Crowley all night; he could only sit there, stunned. After a few extremely weighted moments, he saw Aziraphale wiping his hands on his trousers. Aziraphale had been... nervous, perhaps? Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sure. It's no problem.” He put his sunglasses back on and set his hands in his lap as though waiting for Aziraphale to respond.

“Thank you, Crowley. I – I will look forward to it.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Would you like to come in for a while? have plenty of wine, and we could – we could listen to more music if you'd like?” The angel knew from the slight pause before Crowley spoke that the answer would be a no.

“I'm wiped, Angel,” Crowley said honestly. “I'm gonna head home.”

“All right.” Aziraphale did his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice and failed miserably. He opened his door and set a foot on the sidewalk.  
  
Crowley rushed to smooth over the situation. “Just been a long night. Why don't I come by tomorrow?” he offered.

Aziraphale pursed his lips before responding. “All right, dear. Tomorrow it is.” He kissed Crowley on the cheek and attempted to preserve what little of his dignity remained as he walked up the stairs to the shop by himself.

 

* * *

 

Saturday 2 July 1976

Crowley and Donna met at an out of the way Greek place she liked to frequent whenever she was in town. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, huge sunglasses, and a baseball cap. It was still surreal to Crowley how he'd met her just before she became famous; they had a few outings where they'd been able to go out and run around without worrying about being swarmed by fans. Not anymore. Crowley was a bit amazed that Donna had continued to be his friend, but he remained grateful for it. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, and then they ordered food. The minute the waiter left, Donna leaned across the table, pulled her sunglasses down, and said, “Well?”

Crowley was eager to dish; he hadn't yet talked to anyone about what happened in San Francisco. It was lovely to retell it to a friend, especially one who was so very invested in the happenings. He'd worn his usual sunglasses so he could hand the ones Bob had given him to Donna. She was examining all the tiny stones on the frames when she asked Crowley a question for which he was not prepared.

“And what does Ezra have to say about all this?”

“Ezra – what?”

“I saw him with you last night, AJ. He's okay with you seeing Bob?”

Crowley let out a long breath. “I haven't told him,” he said quietly.

Donna raised an eyebrow. “You told me that you hooked up with Bob before you told your partner? I'm touched.”

“That's not – that's not exactly what I meant.” Oh, Crowley was really stepping in it now.

“Wait – you,” Donna set down her fork. “You haven't _told_ Ezra about Bob?”

“Uh, no...” Crowley had not told Aziraphale anything about Bob.

“Are you serious?”

“Look, I-” Crowley wasn't sure quite where to go with the conversation. “-it's. It's complicated between us,” he said.

“AJ. I understand that. I'm not, what am I trying to say here? I'm not judging you. Whatever you guys have going on is your business.” Donna took a sip of her coffee. “It's just...”

“Just what?”

“Your partner... he's quite jealous, isn't he? I thought for a moment he and Freddie were going to get into it.”

Crowley ran his hand over his chin. “Yeah, well. Me too. That was weird.”

“You _have_ to tell him, AJ.” Donna crossed her arms over her bulky sweatshirt. “I just. I don't think it's going to go well for you if you don't.”

Crowley felt his chest beginning to constrict and he gulped down the last of his coffee. “Well, I'm. Shit. Guess I'm sort of in it, huh?”

Donna rested her hand on top of Crowley's. “AJ, I don't understand much about your relationship. God knows - I barely understand my own at times. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you or anything, I just feel like you'll have,” she paused, ran her tongue over her lip the way she always did when she was thinking something over, “I think you'll have better results if you try talking to him.”

“It's, um. Not my strong suit.” Crowley crossed his arms.

“Oh, I know,” Donna said as she reached for a piece of baklava. Crowley laughed and swatted her hand playfully. “I'm gonna say something, and you can get mad at me if you want. But I'm gonna say it regardless.”

“Didn't think I'd be able to stop you.”

“From where I sit, it seems like you want something more from your partner. He didn't show over the holidays, and then he came last night, and he was just sort of...” she waved her hand around dismissively, “I don't know. It's your life. But -” Donna pointed her fork at Crowley.

“You gonna stab me with that, now? Seems like I have a right to get mad at that,” Crowley deadpanned, eliciting a giggle and a good-natured eye roll. 

“Let me finish!” she exclaimed, poking Crowley's hand a few times with the prongs of the fork. “My mama told me something when I was younger. She said, if you ask for what you want, there's no guarantee that you're gonna get it.” Crowley nodded. “Boy, was I mad! I was young and impatient and I wanted everything, right now, all the time. But then she told me the second part. And it took a while for me to understand that part. You wanna hear it?”

“Of course.” Crowley had given all sorts of advice in his existence, loads of bad advice, some decent advice, every now and again some good advice when he was doing a favor for Aziraphale or in a generous mood. He couldn't recall a time he'd needed or desired advice enough to even ask for it.

Donna continued. “She said, there is something guaranteed. If you _don't_ ask for what you want, you'll never, never get it.” She finished the last of her baklava and reached for Crowley's.

“Hey! Hands to yourself, missy!” 

She popped the whole baklava into her mouth. “Think it over,” Donna mumbled through a mouthful of flaky phyllo, and Crowley knew he would have no choice but to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen goes back into the studio a few weeks later, in July 1976. And later that fall, they would indeed have a live concert in Hyde Park!


	27. Don't Try To Spare My Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale learns he can get by with a little help from his new friends, and comes to some important realizations. Crowley is an emotional disaster and has a hard time coping with... life. 
> 
> Please note: there is a BRIEF, very brief mention of blood towards the end of the chapter. It is not blood play or anything like that, but I wanted to make a note of it in case people are not into it. Please also note the new tags about alcohol! It affects demons too! Anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ActualBlanketGoblin for beta reading! And thank you to everyone reading along. The last few chapters have been a bit of a 'pinch point' for me in terms of the plot; I think I'm through the worst of it and things are starting to flow a bit more freely. Updated the chapter count to reflect this as I suspect (but I'm not sure) that we're about at the halfway point. If we're not there, we're very close.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for all the lovely comments and sticking with me on our long disco journey here. Disco forever !!!

Tuesday 5 July 1976  
The Bookshop, Soho

 

The second meeting of the Gay Men's Book Club was off to a good start; Aziraphale had noted what beverages and pastries everyone enjoyed from last time, and made this week's selections accordingly. Two new men joined the club this evening; to everyone's relief, they were fully caught up with the reading and participated as fully in the discussion as all the existing members. Aziraphale had felt a bit more relaxed this time around; he was comfortable enough to enjoy listening to portions of the book being read aloud and the spirited debate that followed.

However, Aziraphale was still distracted and a bit irritable regarding the events of the previous weekend. He really had hoped to get on a bit better with some of Crowley's new friends, and he certainly hadn't meant to get into it with the host... the man with the sword... Fredrick? No, Freddie. Aziraphale couldn't stop himself from fretting and losing himself in his own train of thought the same way he had during the party. Was it true what Freddie had told him in the kitchen? Would he be able to recover from his disastrous first meeting with Donna, who appeared to be one of Crowley's close friends? Was it too late for him to be more forward with Crowley about what he truly desired from their relationship? Or would he have to wait another few dozen years before trying to sort this all out? So many thoughts swirled inside the angel's mind, none of them sitting well with him.

“Ezra?”

Aziraphale blinked his eyes and snapped back to attention. Everyone except William, Sanjay, Jimmy, and Larry had left, and they were all sitting around nursing cups of tea. Aziraphale thought he heard snippets of conversation about plans for summer holiday, but it wasn't until William tapped him on the arm that he realized a question had been directed his way.

“Ezra?” William asked again. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm? No, I didn't.”

“We were asking if you and AJ were going on holiday,” Jimmy said. Aziraphale looked at Jimmy, and then at William, and then down to his shaking hands cradling his cup of tea.

“I think... I think my partner might be seeing someone else,” Aziraphale blurted out. His vision went a bit blurry for a minute and he quickly attempted to pull himself together. There was a brief lull in the conversation as everyone turned to look at Aziraphale and he tried to stand up. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. How inappropriate of me. This is terribly out of line. If you'll excuse me, I'll just-”

“Wait, wait,” Sanjay grabbed Aziraphale's arm. “Ezra, wait. What's going on?” Aziraphale looked into Sanjay's warm brown eyes and saw the genuine concern there.

“What happened with your partner?” Larry asked. “We just met AJ last week, and everything seemed jolly good between you two.”

“He seemed absolutely smitten with you,” William added, and everyone murmured in agreement.

“I...” Aziraphale paused and set down his cup of tea. That was a bit surprising. “Well. I'm not entirely sure where to start. We were at a party over the weekend with some of his friends in the industry.” He looked up, surprised to see the four men he'd only met a few weeks ago giving him their full and undivided attention.

“Go on,” Larry said.

“It... didn't. I met a few of AJ's friends for the first time, and, well. It didn't go quite the way I had hoped.”

Larry shrugged. “Happens like that sometimes.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I'm afraid things have been a bit... tumultuous lately. Between us.”

“Are you all right?” Sanjay asked. Aziraphale was confused. Why was Sanjay concerned with his welfare in the situation with Crowley, which was primarily his fault?

“Yes, I'm... I'm as well as to be expected,” Aziraphale said primly, trying to hide his discomfort. It didn't work; Jimmy shot him a sympathetic look and gently patted him on the shoulder.

“He was playing records at his friend Freddie's flat. It was a small gathering, over in Kensington. Quite posh man, rather fond of his cats, apparently he's some kind of singer. At least that's what I understand. Well, he was quite flirtatious with AJ, in front of me, if you can believe it, and this, this, Freddie, he-”

“Hold on a second, AJ works in the music industry, right? He's a producer, isn't he?” William asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said.

“Is your partner friends with Freddie... Mercury?” Sanjay's eyes went wide.

“Of _Queen_?” Larry asked incredulously.

“Yes...? Apparently?” Aziraphale said tentatively, picking up his tea to discover there was only one sip left, at best.

“Wow. You didn't tell us _that_.” Jimmy looked impressed. “But carry on, please.”

“Right.” Aziraphale continued hesitantly. “Freddie said something to me, I can't tell if he was serious or not. He said he'd heard about AJ seeing... someone else and, then he made some other statements about the nature of our relationship and essentially enquiring if I would...” Aziraphale trailed off. He was no prude (and Heaven knew it), but the thought of sharing Crowley with anyone else stirred up the same bitter bile he'd tasted in his mouth all weekend. “If I would be willing to erm, _share_ , my partner with him, as it were.”

Sanjay's eyebrows were up into his hairline; William had a hand over his mouth, and Jimmy let out a loud exhale.

“And... I um. I – that's when it got a bit... uh, heated,” Aziraphale said quietly as he stared down into his empty mug.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Larry held both his hands in the air. “Are you telling us that you got into a fight with Freddie Mercury? Because he wants to shag your partner?”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times; he cocked his head and was finally able to speak. “I wouldn't exactly call it a disagreement. But uh, some words were said. And... and there was a sword brandished about at one point.” He murmured the last sentence.

“A sword? He had a sword?!” Sanjay exclaimed.

“I couldn't tell if any of it was serious!” Aziraphale said plaintively. “The entire night was just a com _plete_ disaster. I felt so off. I didn't feel like myself, and I certainly wasn't acting like myself, and Heaven knows I had no idea what to do when it all happened.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and let out a small huff. “I made an utter fool of myself, and I'm sure I upset my... partner in the process.” He was pouting now, in front of people he barely knew, but he honestly didn't care at this point. Heavens, it felt good to get all this out of his system. When was the last time he'd had a serious conversation with anyone who wasn't... Crowley? Aziraphale couldn't remember.

“What happened after the disagreement?” Jimmy asked.

“After the disagreement, Cr- AJ came into the room and... and then we left,” Aziraphale said. Sanjay and Jimmy shot each other a look.

“Did you,” Sanjay spun his hands around in a circling motion, “have a conversation about it afterwards?”

“Ahh, yes, somewhat. He noticed that I didn't uh, have quite the best evening, and then he said he wouldn't ask me to come along again in the future; then I apologized-” Aziraphale stretched out the word, still quite proud of the rudimentary but sincere apology he'd given Crowley for his behavior, “-and I asked for another chance, and then he headed back to his flat. Then we saw each other... Oh, Lord. I'm so sorry; I'm just blathering on and on.” Aziraphale rubbed his forehead.

“I don't know what I would have done in that situation,” Jimmy said after a moment. “That's wild.”

“Look, Ezra, the man is a celebrity.” Larry said. “I've uh, heard from more than a few _reputable_ sources he's at the Coleherne fairly often.”

William saw the confused look on Aziraphale's face and offered clarification. “It's the leather bar. Down the street from where we all met.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said.

“What I'm trying to say is, I think he may have been exaggerating a bit about wanting to, eh, to _be_ with AJ. From my time in the business, I can tell you, a lot of these rockstars want to flirt a lot and, you know.” Larry made a vague gesture with his arm. Aziraphale looked at Larry blankly. “Look, your partner's a very attractive man. He's going to be getting advances like that in his industry, it's reality.”

“I don't know much about what it's like to be a celebrity, but I think Larry's right,” William said.  
  
Jimmy hummed in agreement. “Maybe it was all meant to be a good ribbing and it got a touch out of hand. Maybe he's just like that.”

Sanjay chimed in. “He _is_ probably the most famous singer in the country at the moment.”Aziraphale nodded and Sanjay turned to face him, then continued. “What did AJ say when you asked him if he was seeing someone else?”

“If I what?”

“Did he answer you?” Sanjay asked.

“Erm, well, I.” Aziraphale chewed on the inside of his lip for a minute, deliberately not meeting anyone's eyes. “I didn't actually... I didn't get a chance,” well, that wasn't true; “I didn't bring it up.”

Larry threw his arm out to the side and knocked over his tea. “Wait, you haven't _talked_ to him about it?”

“Um, no. No, I haven't.” There was a collective groan.

“That was three days ago! You must be feeling awful!” William laid a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder.

“Erza, you've got to ask him if it's true!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“I'm not-”

“If you don't ask him, then you'll never know,” Sanjay said as he crossed his arms.

Aziraphale let out a slight whine and clasped his hands together. “It's just – well, you see. Every time I've tried to have a conversation with AJ, it's just... it goes all... wrong!” He felt the start of hot tears up against his lashes, threatening to spill over. Oh, for Heaven's sake. Here he was, blabbering on like a fool; surely his emotions and his earthly body would cooperate for once and spare him this extra humiliation.

“Listen, I understand,” Jimmy said quietly. “Lots of us, well. I didn't ever learn how to... communicate. Didn't learn anything from my parents except that I wasn't welcome at home.”

Larry was staring at the floor. “I got kicked out at fourteen. No one in my house ever talked about anything, just knocked us around.”

“That's why you've got to change it, flip it on its head,” Sanjay said, smiling kindly at Aziraphale. “You can do it, Ezra. You can talk to him. What do you need? Let us help you.”

William, Larry, and Jimmy had all scooted their chairs over a bit closer; Aziraphale felt surrounded, but in a good way. He had always been good at feeling emotions, and he felt so many in the moment; care, compassion, concern, affection, all pouring off the four humans in the room. “You're right, Sanjay. I can do it,” Aziraphale said resolutely. He had been a warrior once, for the love of all things holy. Surely he could initiate a conversation with his best friend. “I'll talk to him. I'll ask him about it. I will, I'll – I'll do it as soon as I can.”

“Good!” William exclaimed.

“And then-” Larry held up a finger, “-we'll all get together over a pint and you'll tell us everything.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Right.” Now to find the courage to actually follow through.

 

* * *

 

Friday 8 July 1976

 

The morning after the conversation with his friends from book club, Aziraphale asked Crowley if he'd like to come by on Friday evening, and he'd readily agreed. Which had given Aziraphale several days to be an anxious, fretting mess. He'd tuned into Crowley's radio show on Thursday night as usual, listening for any subliminal messages underneath his song selections, then reminding himself that Crowley didn't know _he_ knew about his DJ night and certainly didn't know he'd been listening in for months. Aziraphale rarely slept as it was, but he was so keyed up he couldn't even read. By the time Friday evening finally rolled around, he had reorganized three sections of the shop and caught up with an entire stack of invoices. Crowley showed up right on time with truffles, a few cheeses, and two very expensive bottles of Côtes de Provence perfect for a warm summer night. They'd listened to a few records from the box Crowley hadn't yet taken back to his flat and kept up some light small talk for a few hours. Just as Aziraphale was working up the courage to bring up the subject at hand, Crowley tilted his head towards him.

“Angel, you've hardly touched any of the treats I brought you,” Crowley said, a phrase which Aziraphale now recognized after a couple hundred years as an invitation to conversation.

“The other night, at the party...” Aziraphale trailed off. His palms were starting to feel a bit clammy.

Crowley sat back. “What about it?”

“Your uh, your friend Freddie said some quite, interesting things,” Aziraphale said, reaching for the bottle of wine. “And I got a bit... heated about it all. I'm sorry about that, really I am. I just-”

“It's fine,” Crowley said. “What did he say?”

“He told me you were seeing someone else, and then began... suggesting perhaps that I could,” Aziraphale paused to let the hot rush of jealousy simmer down, “ _share_ you with him as I apparently shared you with others. And I just. Well. I just didn't know what to say at that point.” The angel looked down at his trembling hands and waited for Crowley to say something, anything.

Crowley stared down at his boots. He truly didn't know how to respond. So that's what had gotten Aziraphale all riled up at the party. Freddie had probably assumed Aziraphale knew about their situation, since they were 'partners,' and... shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. This wasn't how he wanted this conversation to go. Despite Aziraphale's hot and cold treatment over the past few decades, despite all the frustrations and pain he felt, Crowley knew he was in for a spot of trouble because he hadn't told Aziraphale about Bob. It wasn't how he wanted to handle this. He was planning on telling Aziraphale, he wanted to tell him about it, but not like this. Aziraphale, always so perceptive, picked up on Crowley's hesitation immediately.

“Crowley?”

“Mmm?”

“So you are – you _have been seeing someone, then?” Aziraphale looked quite a bit paler than normal._

“Umm. Yeah,” Crowley said.

A high, tense “Ahh,” was all Aziraphale could get out. Suddenly the room felt far too warm; he tugged at his bow tie and gulped down his entire glass of roséwhile Crowley slouched down further in his corner of the sofa. Being a loyal soldier of Heaven, Aziraphale had loads of practice hiding his emotions, but this shock was affecting him physically, and his soft form was giving him away.

“I mean, sort of.”

Aziraphale let out a sarcastic chuckle and proceeded to address Crowley as though he were an erstwhile customer inquiring about a book he didn't have or wouldn't sell. “I'm not sure what that means, either you're seeing someone or you're not.” Then, softer: “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Didn't think you'd care,” Crowley said before he could help himself. He grimaced and slung his leg over the armrest. He wasn't drunk, at least not _that_ drunk; the truth had just sort of found its way out of his chest and into the world.

“What made you...” Aziraphale set down his glass and let Crowley's words hang in the air. It cut quite deep, but it was more than a fair statement. He thought back on all the times Crowley had seen him in the arms of another; Greece, Rome, Spain, a few dozen odd times in Italy... it didn't take him long to lose count. Then there were all the indulgences Crowley _hadn't_ seen. Oh, dear. Still, it was quite a shock to process the fact that his oldest friend (it's complicated?) was not only seeing someone, but didn't even want to tell him about it. “I can see how you'd, it's a fair assumption, given... Well, congratulations to you and your boyfriend are in order, I suppose.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale's sour face and attempted an explanation. “Angel, it's not... it's not like that.” He sighed. “It's occasional, see him a few times a year. We talk on the phone. Once a week or so. He's a _friend_ ,” Crowley said, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

Aziraphale began gesticulating wildly. “I didn't know about him, am I correct to assume he doesn't know about me? How does he feel about you coming over here and, and-”

“He knows about you, Angel.”

Aziraphale, who was good and ready for a real row at this point, froze with his hand in the air. “What?”

“I told him about you. First night we met, I told him about you.” Crowley pushed his sunglasses up.

“So...” Aziraphale scrunched up his face in confusion and cocked his head to the side at a few different angles in the style of a confused Irish setter.

“They don't... they're not... Bob has a partner.” Aziraphale glared at Crowley. “I've met him, actually!”

“Oh, you've met him? Did you meet the both of them, then?” the angel asked, eyes blazing.

Crowley opened his mouth to tell Aziraphale about his rejection of James's proposition during his weekend in San Francisco and immediately thought better of it. “Bob doesn't, in his words, he doesn't believe in living his life the way straight people do. They're completely open about all of it. He sees other people, his partner sees other people, they both see people. It's a whole... thing. Don't know too much about it other than what he's told me.”

“He sounds fascinating,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“Honestly? You'd probably like him, Aziraphale. He's well read, he's funny...” Crowley could feel the jealousy rolling off Aziraphale like steam from a kettle and decided to stop talking for a moment; he waited for a response from the angel, then let out a resigned sigh. “Look, I get it. I didn't tell you. I should have told you. If you don't want to do this anymore-”

“I didn't say that,” Aziraphale snapped.

“Okay...” Crowley said, dragging out the word.

“Do you plan to continue seeing Bob?” Aziraphale asked.

“I... guess, yeah. Maybe?” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale. “It's. We've only seen each other a few times,” Crowley added. “A lot of it's about lifestyle, work, being busy. I don't see that changing anytime soon. And like I told you, he's got a partner. It's not...” He felt a bit exposed talking about Bob like this, especially given their recent intimacy which Crowley had very much enjoyed.

“Serious?”

“Yeah, that. I don't think it's serious. Wouldn't describe it that way.” Crowley felt his chest tighten a bit at the idea. He cared deeply for Bob; he knew Bob cared for him, but he still knew he couldn't say with confidence it was anything serious, or even that it should be. It wasn't lost on Crowley that this whole thing had started because he was a pining, pathetic mess of a demon who'd been roaming the world over for almost a decade in an effort to deal with his feelings for the angel sitting in front of him. However, Crowley was proud to say he quite liked the person Bob was, whether they were exploring anything physical or not.

Aziraphale went quiet for a bit, then cleared his throat. “He's kind to you?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” Crowley said.

“Well.” Aziraphale ran his hands down his vest and began fidgeting with the well-worn edge of his pocket. “That's, uh, that's good.” He was so shocked he had no idea how to continue.

Crowley scooted forward on the sofa as if about to stand. “Do you want me to leave, An- Aziraphale?”

The redaction of Crowley's typical endearment stopped Aziraphale cold. Was he about to set everything between them back a couple dozen years... or more? Now that Aziraphale had gotten used to Crowley's regular company and the associated benefits, he didn't want to give that up. He simply couldn't go back to the way things were before, or worse; the angel began to fear that Crowley would disappear for another fifty or hundred years and he'd be alone, once again, with nothing but his confusing mess of feelings and his bookshop to keep him company. He started to feel a familiar panic creeping up on him. This time, it caused him to freeze up; he didn't respond in his usual frantic matter. The angel felt as though he were watching the scene from above, from outside himself.

“Aziraphale? Did you hear me?” Crowley was standing now.

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted me to leave,” Crowley said. Aziraphale could tell from his body language that Crowley didn't want to leave, but would do so if asked. Why was this all so confusing? Surely an eternal being should be able to figure this all out a bit faster.

“I don't – no. You don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave,” Aziraphale clarified. “Unless you want to leave. If you want to leave, I won't stop you from leaving.” Crowley's only response was to change the expression on his face the slightest amount. There was too much information; Aziraphale was struggling to keep up with all of it. “It's just,” Aziraphale felt he might regret what he was about to say, but it tumbled out of him before he could stop it, “in the space of less than ten years, you've become – you're into all this music, you’re traveling the world over at a moment’s notice, new people, new... new everything!“ Aziraphale knew he sounded anguished, and didn’t care. He was scared. What if he didn’t fit into Crowley’s new life, a life he'd sought out after a particularly painful rejection from the angel? Aziraphale was starting to realize that it didn't quite matter how he'd _intended_ for things to be received by Crowley; if they _hadn't_ been received that way, if the things he'd said and done had caused Crowley to feel rejected or unwanted, he had to deal with the end result and work his way backwards. He blinked rapidly as he tried to incorporate this sudden flash of insight into his existing knowledge.

“I’ve been trying to tell you about it,” Crowley said.

“It's still so much information to take in, my dear, it's all been going-”

“Too fast for you?” Crowley spit out. He turned and began walking towards the door.

“No!” Aziraphale yelled emphatically. He would not allow his own misunderstood words from almost a decade ago, words that had been uttered in fear, to be used against him. “No, no, no. Not that. That is _not_ what I meant.” He quickly made his way across the floor and stepped in between Crowley and the door, planting his feet firmly on the ground in a wide stance. “And that's not exactly what I meant back then, either,” he added quietly.

“Right,” Crowley said flatly.

“It's been a lot for me to take in, that is all I meant to say.” Aziraphale gestured to himself. “As you may recall, I have long been a collector and... keeper of information.”

“How could I forget?” Crowley had his sunglasses on now. Shit.

“I don't wish for things to...” Aziraphale knew he wanted things to change between them; he wanted Crowley all to himself, dammit! “change between us.” Crowley nodded; his posture becoming slightly less defensive.

“Okay.”

“I just... the information about your other relationship is a lot to take in, is all. Although I am quite happy for you.” Aziraphale's words didn’t match his tone; he looked ready to roll up his sleeves and Crowley thought for a moment he appeared a bit... green?

“All I'm saying... I just need a bit of time to...” the angel couldn't even finish his sentence.

“A bit of time,” Crowley said quietly. “As you wish.” As he went to open the door, Aziraphale grabbed his arm.

“Wait!” Aziraphale bellowed; Crowley was startled. The angel rarely used that specific timbre around him, but Crowley recognized it as his 'heavenly command' voice. “I _don't_ need or want time away from you, and I would hope that my explicit statements on this matter will ensure you don't interpret this conversation in that way,” Aziraphale said resolutely. Crowley stood still and shot him an odd look. Aziraphale was sweating around his hairline and breathing heavily; he looked quite frantic and Crowley couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the way all of this was affecting him.

“All right,” Crowley said warily.

“I _will_ see you soon,” Aziraphale said. He briefly looked down, then grabbed Crowley by the shoulders and pulled him in for a slightly rough kiss. Crowley was a bit stunned, but quickly returned the angel's intensity, accidentally clacking their teeth together a few times. When Aziraphale pulled away, Crowley noticed a tiny spot of blood on the angel's lips.

“I'm, ooh. I'm sorry Angel,” Crowley said softly. “Think I got you a bit there. Let me just-” Crowley reached up and put a thumb to Aziraphale's lower lip and was ready to heal it when Aziraphale grabbed his hand.

“No,” the angel said. “Just leave it.” Aziraphale brought his hand to his mouth and licked his lips in a way that made Crowley's knees go completely weak. He blinked, then turned slowly towards the door and headed out into the night. The angel listened as Crowley's boots made their familiar click-click-click against the sidewalk. Aziraphale began walking back into the center of the shop, feeling quite raw from the conversation they'd had. He truly hoped Crowley would take his words at face value. And now he needed to have a plan for what to do in case he didn’t.

 

* * *

 

Mayfair

 

Crowley kicked the door of his flat open. He was feeling irritable, bored, and lonely: a bad combination for any demon, particularly this one. He looked at his world clock and noticed it was not even 9pm in New York. He picked up the phone and dialed Bob's number. At least he thought Bob was in New York at the moment; Crowley didn't know for sure –

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” Crowley said. “How uh, how are things?”

“Well good... I guess it's good evening for you, beautiful boy,” Bob said warmly.

“It is yeah, pretty late around here.”

“How's it been since you got back? Over your jet lag yet?”

Crowley chuckled. “The jet lag wasn't so bad; the hangover was a bit worse.”

“I hear that. Took me a week to feel back to normal.” Bob lowered his voice. “Of course, it was totally worth it.” Crowley fell quiet for a moment, then decided to try something new.

“Right. I wanted to ask you something. I – I've got a bit of a situation with my partner.”

“What's going on?”

“I think he's feeling jealous.” Crowley began drumming his fingers nervously on his thigh.

Bob paused. “AJ, I would love to chat with you more about this, but James is in town for the weekend, and we're actually getting ready to head out for the evening. Can I try you in a few days?”

Crowley swallowed. “Yeah, great. That's great. Have a good time.”

“Wonderful. Thank you. I'll talk to you soon.”

The sound of the call cutting out felt colder than normal. Crowley rummaged around in a cabinet until he found a full bottle of whisky someone had sent as a thank-you. All the gifts were starting to run together; he typically only remembered the names of people who had given him records. He started to pour himself some, watching as the amber liquid filled the cup, up, up, until there was only a tiny bit of space left between the whisky and the edge of the glass. Crowley took a rather large gulp and the alcohol burned his stupid internal organs on the way down. He'd long known that any interactions between humans and eternal beings would be fraught and complicated, hence why he'd avoided them for most of his existence. He hadn't thought about the potential consequences for him and Aziraphale. But what did it even matter? Aziraphale despised change. He would always be around, even if he didn't ever fully return Crowley's affections. Crowley considered what their relationship would be like if they stopped touching, stopped kissing... he groaned. Somehow his glass was already empty. Crowley refilled it and sauntered into his plant room.

“I'm overreacting, yeah? Am I overreacting? Probably,” Crowley said to a quivering Pothos. “Probably all in my head, like usual.” As he took one of its leaf-covered vines into his hand, he realized his vision was a bit blurry. Right now he couldn't do the most thorough job of inspecting the plant for spots or burnt leaf tips. He groaned. Crowley drained his second full glass of whisky and went to find a record to play. He selected one of his favorite Stevie Wonder albums and tossed it on; he cranked the volume as loud as it would go. Demonically sound proofing his flat was the single best thing he'd done since moving here.

A famous intro anchored by a harmonica came roaring in; Crowley opened up a second bottle of alcohol, contemplated pouring it into a glass, decided against it, then took the whole thing with him. He sprawled out on the floor with his back against the sofa and took a swig straight form the bottle. Stevie Wonder's voice was so full of raw emotion and Crowley always found himself able to lose himself in it. Aziraphale's words kept echoing in his mind. “I don't need or want time away from you.” That's what the angel had said. That's all he'd said, and Aziraphale seemed more insistent than usual. The question in Crowley's mind was always, would Aziraphale follow through on that? Or would he change his mind? Would he keep up the game of getting close and then pulling away? Crowley groaned. He wasn't sure he could take another five thousand or so years of this.

 _All through thick and thin_  
_Our love just won't end_  
_Cause I love my baby, love my baby – ahhh!_

Drunk as he was, Crowley was still tapping his foot in time with the song. “ _My baby loves me, my baby needs me, and I know I ain't goin' nowhere_ ,” he sang along quietly, surprised to discover that he was able to stay in pitch in his current state. He brought the bottle of unidentified alcohol up to his mouth again only to discover it empty. Time for another. It was a process getting up and to the cabinet again; by the time he'd gotten started on a third bottle, the first side of the record was finished. Crowley flipped it, nearly knocking over the turntable in the process, and then stumbled back into the plant room. He tried leaning against the rather large pot that held his fiddle leaf fig, but misjudged the distance between his back and the pot and ended up hitting the back of his head on the edge instead.

“Fuck!” Crowley reached up to feel a good knot forming on his head, and felt tears beginning to spill out of his eyes despite his best efforts. The room was spinning, and he allowed himself to slump onto the floor, defeated. He closed his eyes and felt himself fade out with the music.

 _Just one look, some kind of power_  
_reaches every inch of me_  
_melting my resistance, slowly_  
_and oh my darling, so tender_  
_(See you, and I go wild)_  
_Every time I see you face darlin', I see you_  
_and I go wild,_  
_Every time you're near me, I go wild_  
_(See you, and I go wild)_  
_My darling, I go wild_

 

* * *

 

Crowley felt something cold against his cheek; he slowly opened his eyes to see that he was face down on the concrete floor of the plant room.

“Nnnnnnnnggggk,” he muttered as he rolled over onto his back. It was dark outside; the lights in the plant room were on, but dim, and even that was too bright for Crowley. His head felt like it had been trapped in a vice for a few days, and just as he wrangled his uncooperative body into a standing position, the phone began to ring. Great.

He stumbled to the phone. “Hello?” he croaked.

“AJ, it's Roger. I've been calling you for an hour.” He sounded panicked.

“Yeah. Right.”

“You all right, mate? You sound awful,” Roger said.

Crowley groaned. “I'm all right.” He suddenly felt dizzy and laid his head down on the desk.

“So uh, are you gonna make it in tonight? I started playing records at nine.”

Shit. Apparently he'd slept until Thursday. “I can come in, I'll be there in twenty or so.”

“Are you sure?” Roger asked.

“Yeah. Could stand to get out of the flat, honestly.”

“Seems like you could use a few cups of tea, mate. See you soon.”

Crowley stood and sobered himself up. How embarrassing. He counted five empty bottles all over the counter and grimaced. Roger had been worried enough to call, which was unusual. It was unlike Crowley to miss any chance he got to play music; he truly loved his time on Radio Invicta. Even with a bit of magic, he still had a rotten taste in his mouth and a searing headache. This was getting to be a bit ridiculous.

“Right, time to get a handle on this,” Crowley muttered. He ran into the sofa on his way out the door and cursed all the way down to the Bentley.

 

* * *

 

Thursday 15 July 1976  
Radio Invicta  
Undisclosed Location, London

 

Crowley swung the door to Roger's flat open with a bit too much force and cringed as it slammed into the wall. “Shit, sorry, sorry,” he hissed.

Roger walked in from the living room. “All right, AJ, ooh.” He cringed when he saw Crowley. “Not trying to be rude, mate, but... you don't look so great.”

“Right, yeah. I'm not, uh.” Crowley knew he looked a disheveled mess, and he felt ashamed to be seen in his current state. “I'm not feeling so hot.”

“Let me get another record on, and then I'll get the kettle going. You need a cup of tea.” Roger patted him gently on the arm, then quickly plucked a single from the shelf and set it on the turntable. A soulful voice began singing over a quiet guitar; all the negative space was filled with the gentle crackle of the tape and the reverb. 

 _Just hung up the telephone_  
_I've heard all about you_

“This is Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, right?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, it's one of yours,” Roger said. “I hope it's all right. I tried to play what I thought you would play.”

 _Your new boyfriend couldn't wait to tell me_  
_That you and I are through_

“Of course it's all right,” Crowley said. “Sorry about, you know. Not showing up. Making you worry.”

 _Don't try to spare my feelings, just get out_  
_And let me cry, hey_  
_Get out, and let me cry_

Roger tilted his head to the side and gave Crowley a kind smile. “It's all right, mate. Come on, we've got about two minutes to get ourselves some tea and put the next song on.” Crowley followed him into the kitchen and watched him toss a bag of tea in each of the mugs.

“Roger, would you stick around tonight? Help me with the set?” Crowley knew there was a broad smile on Roger's face from the way his ears moved slightly as he placed the kettle back on the stand.

“I'd love to,” he said, handing Crowley a cup of tea, black, the way he knew Crowley liked it. Sure enough, he was smiling. “And you can tell me all about your recent trip back to Sigma. While you were gone, I did some research about their newly purchased console; I have some technical questions about it if you wouldn't mind trying to answer them for me...”


	28. Stop All The Calls In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's back in LA for a last-minute job with Freddie (Perren).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for continuing to follow along and leave such lovely, engaging, and thoughtful comments. This chapter is almost 8k words and this week has been so busy so! here we are. I love where the story is taking me and sometimes it feels like I'm just trying to get the words down as they're coming from some sort of channeling or something. Wild! Haven't ever written anything like this before. But thank you all again for your continued confidence and encouragement. It really is what keeps me going. <3

Thursday 21 July 1976  
Mayfair

It had been an embarrassing week for Crowley; he couldn't bring himself to return any of the calls he'd missed during his blackout, and he'd been a bit too down to leave the house. However, today was Thursday, which meant he'd need to select this week's records and get his act together for his DJ set. He was going through a stack of recent promos sent his way when the phone rang. He hadn't talked to anyone in... he couldn't even remember; it was probably about time to remedy that. Crowley strode over to his desk and picked up the phone.

“Yeah, hello?”

“AJ, man, how you doin'?”

“Freddie!” Crowley was overjoyed by the unexpected call. “I'm good, how you been? How's the family?”

“Wife's good, kids are good. Life is pretty good. Can't complain. What about you?”

“Oh, you know. Not bad on this side of the pond,” Crowley said.

“You working on anything right now?”

“No, just-”

“Do you wanna be working on something?” Freddie asked.

“Perhaps. What's going on?”

“Producing another record for the Sylvers. One of my engineers can't come to work sober, one is too busy breaking up with his girl, and the other is being a real fucking pain in my ass. Could use an extra set of hands. You feel like coming on an all-expenses paid trip to LA?” Freddie asked.

Crowley laughed. “What the hell. Sure. Can't leave a friend in a mess like that.” He didn't have much going on at the moment, and it was likely he'd be back in time for his next DJ set.

“Do you know the band at all?”

“Uh... I know Boogie Fever,” Crowley said.

“I did that one with them. Okay, well. These kids are good, but half of them are actual kids. Youngest ones are teenagers, so I need someone reliable who can show up and be a professional and not, you know, be doing drugs and shit in the bathroom in between takes.” Crowley made a noise that could be described as a cross between a groan and an unidentified word. “Does that mean you're gonna come?” Freddie asked.

“Absolutely.”

Freddie whistled. “Well that's good, cause I'd have been fucked if you'd said no. Everybody says you're a lifesaver, and they're right.”

“Let me guess, you need me to be there tomorrow,” Crowley quipped.

“Yeah, about that. I uh, I actually need you to leave tonight. I got a guy on the way to your apartment right now. He should be there any minute.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I'm gonna stay on the phone with you until Billy gets there,” Freddie said. Crowley stood and stared at the door. He was just about to set the phone down and walk to the door when Freddie began absolutely howling with laughter. “Oh, man, I got you, didn't I? I bet you were 'bout to go to the door, weren't you?” Freddie continued laughing and wheezing for breath, and Crowley joined in, laughing with him for a good long while.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. You got me,” Crowley said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I was about to go to the fucking door. Not bad.”

“Okay, I'll stop fucking with you now. I got a guy in London who will have your tickets for you tomorrow. You got something to write with?”

Crowle pulled out his trusty Sigma Studios notepad and jotted down the address. “Right. Well, guess I'll see you at some point tomorrow.”

“Thanks for saving my ass, I owe you some good weed and a night on the town,” Freddie said.

“Another trip to the record store would do just fine,” Crowley said. “I'll come straight to the studio once I land.”

“Sounds good. AJ, thanks so much. Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Same here, Freddie. See you tomorrow.”

Crowley hung up the phone, stretched, then walked into his plant room. “You lot are going to be on your own for a while here. Don't get any big ideas,” he said as he ripped a dead leaf off a philodendron.

* * *

 

Friday, July 22nd, 1976  
Hollywood, California

Crowley went and picked up the tickets from Freddie’s guy in London, and then proceeded to transport himself in the general direction of Total Experience Recording Studios without all the hassle of air travel. God, he fucking hated to fly. He dusted himself off, got oriented, and walked a few blocks down to the studio. Crowley had gotten himself a new fancy watch since his last visit to LA; he checked to see what time it was. 9am. Seemed unlikely anyone would be working, but he might as well head to the studio. Crowley was surprised to find the door unlocked. After he let himself in, he was even more surprised to wander into the control room and find an entire room of people working in a recording studio at 9 in the morning. Crowley counted seven, eight, no – nine! - singers in the live room.

“Early morning,” he said dryly.

Freddie turned around and grinned at him. “AJ, my man.” He stood and shook Crowley's hand, then threw an arm around him and gave him a solid hug. “Thanks so much for coming.”

“It's my pleasure. Talk to me. Where you at?”

Freddie sat and pulled a chair up for Crowley. “Musicians are done, thank fuck, had to get more than a dozen players in here to make it happen. Just need to track the vocals and mix.”

Crowley looked over at Freddie. He was slouching a bit, and there were bags under his eyes. “You been working long days on this?”

“Yeah, it's been a real bitch. Both the kids came down with a bad cold, too. Just a real shitshow.”

Crowley stretched his arms out and cracked his neck. No one would notice a little bit of extra energy flowing around the studio; no one ever did. If needed, Crowley could stretch time a bit out, too. He closed his eyes and focused on pulling up a bit of demonic energy for everyone to use. The next few hours went by quickly; the vibe in the room perked up and everyone seemed to be miraculously nailing the songs on the first or second take. Around noon, Freddie made an executive decision (heavily influenced by Shirley, the mother of the band) to break for lunch. Freddie and Crowley were getting ready to lock up and head to a diner a few blocks away when the studio phone rang.

Freddie went to answer it, then called out for Crowley. “AJ! It’s a call for _you_ ,” Freddie said. “Word travels fast around here.”

“A call? For me?”

“Yeah.” Freddie handed Crowley the phone.

“Uh, hello?”

“AJ?!”

“Bob?”

“Of course it's me. You didn’t tell me you were going be in LA!” Bob exclaimed.

“Yeah, I'm sorry, it all happened pretty fast. Freddie called me in yesterday,” Crowley said.

“You never called me back. I got a bit worried.”

Crowley groaned. “I'm sorry about that. I got absolutely plastered that night and, well. It's been a tough few weeks.”

“I'm sorry, AJ. What time do you think you'll be done? I can come pick you up.”

Crowley hummed. “Maybe swing by around ten, see where we're at then?”

“Sounds good. I'll see you then, beautiful boy.”

Crowley smiled as he hung up and was still smiling as he followed Freddie out the door.

“Your man coming to get you later on?” Freddie asked.

“As long as we're all finished up.”

“Nah, don't worry about it. You came all this way. You deserve to have a little fun.”

 

* * *

 

Eight hours later, everyone was still buzzing from Crowley's generous use of demonic interventions. “All right!” Freddie clapped his hands. “You all ready in there? Ready to finish this up?” All the Sylvers nodded and set to singing beautiful 'oooh's and 'wooo's over a tender ballad.

 _And this love was so sweet_  
_And your eyes were aimed straight at me_  
_I believe in love at first sight_  
_When I looked at you, the damage was done_  
_Oh, you're the permanent one_

 _I need you, I want you_  
_Got to have you for my very own_  
_I need you, I want you_  
_Got to have you for my very own_

It wasn't long before the gentle sounds of what was (essentially) a choir worked a few memories of Aziraphale out of the corners of Crowley's mind. Oh, Aziraphale! Crowley hadn't even told him that he was leaving town. What if he’d called? What if he was worried? Shit.

“Ah shit. I – uh. I have a favor to ask,” Crowley said.

“What do you need?”

“I need to make an international call.”

Freddie shot him a look. “Just make it fast.”

“Absolutely.” Crowley darted back towards the kitchen and dialed the bookshop.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley was confused. Why did Aziraphale's voice sound so – oh.

“Crowley, are you all right? It's three in the morning. Do you need-”

“Angel, angel, it's fine, I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know I'm out of town.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Ahh. Well. I appreciate the notice.”

“It's a work thing, I'm in Los Angeles. I imagine I'll be back by Thursday at the latest, in time for...” Crowley trailed off.

“In time for what?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley still didn't know he was listening in to his Thursday night radio show, right?

“I uh, you remember Jack? My friend whose mother was ill.”

“Ahh, yes.”

“He's in town, gonna listen to him spin some records at a club in Brixton.” Well, it wasn't that far from the truth. “Listen, I uh, I gotta - I'm in the studio and I think I hear them coming back.”

“Of course, I won't keep you. Crowley?”

"Hmm?”

“Thank you for calling,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Anytime, Angel.” Crowley hung up and half ran, half walked back into the control room.

“You set?” Freddie asked.

“All good, all good, had to call uh, someone. Back home.”

“Can you help me with this reel? I want to switch this out, and if you're game, you can help me mix until your man comes to get you.”

“Everyone's done for the day?”

“Yeah, their mom's coming to get them all. They did great. We got so much work done today,” Freddie said as he and Crowley pulled the reels from the day off and set them in order. Freddie taped labels on the board and dove headfirst into doing preliminary mixes. Crowley was so engrossed in watching and hearing Freddie work that he didn't even notice the knock on the control room door.

“Hey, you don't need to knock, man, just come on in,” Freddie called out as Bob stepped into the control room with a huge smile on his face.

“You didn't know it was me,” he said to Freddie as he shook his hand.

“This guy told me you might be coming through,” Freddie said. “Don't worry, I didn't work him too hard.”

“Appreciate that. You all done here?” Bob walked over and put his arm around Crowley.

“I think so,” Crowley said.

“Go on, man, you're good.” Freddie stood and gave Crowley a hug. “I don't need you tomorrow after all. Larry's gonna be able to come in and start his part of the mixing. Go enjoy yourself,” he said as he winked at Bob.

“I think we're gonna do just that. Thanks for letting me have him for the weekend,” Bob said playfully.

“Come by on Monday, AJ. You can listen to what we got by then.”

“Sounds good.” Crowley followed Bob out the door and onto the street.

“Well, hello there.” Bob brushed a bit of Crowley's hair behind his ear and kissed him. His lips were as warm and tender as Crowley remembered, and he still smelled wonderful. He walked Crowley to the car and opened the door. “What do you feel like doing tonight? I'm sure you're not hungry.”

Crowley chuckled. “No, I'm not hungry. Honestly, I'm exhausted.”

“I bet.” Bob laced his fingers with Crowley's. “I know you wanted to talk about a few things with your partner. We don't have to do it tonight, but if you want to talk about it, I will find the time.”

“I...” Crowley paused. “Thank you. I'm – I think. Maybe another time. Just been a long day.”

Bob nodded and kissed the back of Crowley's hand, then started the car. “Where are you staying?” he asked as they pulled onto the road.

“Mmm.” Crowley's mind went blank; he hadn't actually made any sort of reservation or discussed it with Freddie. “I have no idea,” he said.

Bob looked over at him. “That means you're staying with me.” He smiled at Crowley until the car behind them started honking. They headed west, past mid-city, Beverly Hills, and into Santa Monica, pulling up in front of a beautiful mid-century ranch with immaculate landscaping in the front. Bob insisted on carrying Crowley's one small bag inside.

“Hello!” James was standing in the foyer. “AJ! So glad to see you.” He greeted Crowley with a warm hug, then kissed Bob on the cheek. “Are you hungry at all?” Bob held back a chuckle.

“Great to see you, James. Not hungry, no,” Crowley said.

“Do you want a drink?” Bob asked.

“Sure, thanks.” Crowley followed Bob and James through a hallway and ended up in the tastefully decorated living room.

“Have a seat, AJ,” James said. “I'll fix us all a drink. You've probably had a really long day.”

“Did I hear that AJ is in town?” Manuel walked into the living room and gave Crowley a hug. James came back from the kitchen with a tray of drinks, something fancy in a highball glass with triple layers. The four of them sat and enjoyed conversation for a while until James and Manuel announced they were turning in for the evening. After they'd left, Bob joined Crowley on the sofa.

“Hello, beautiful boy,” Bob said, planting a soft trail of kisses over Crowley's cheek. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon.”

“I guess you have Freddie to thank for that,” Crowley quipped. Bob smiled and wrapped his hand around the back of Crowley's neck.

“Remind me to thank him,” he said as he kissed Crowley passionately. It wasn't long before Bob had a leg thrown over Crowley and a hand caressing his hip, then wandering over to the front of his thigh. Bob straddled him on the couch and rocked his hips against Crowley's. He landed a bite on a soft spot on Crowley’s neck, eliciting a loud moan from the exhausted demon.

Crowley clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Shall we head to bed?” Bob asked. Crowley nodded and took Bob’s hand.

“We're hosting an informal party tomorrow,” Bob said as he led them down the hallway to the guest room. “There's a wonderful pool out back and we don't use it nearly often enough. Other than that, I'm free. When are you working?”

“Freddie said he didn't need me tomorrow, remember?” Crowley took his shirt off and searched for a place to set it down. Bob gently took the shirt from his hands and let it fall to the floor.

“That's right. Then it looks like I can keep you up late tonight,” Bob said as he nipped at Crowley's neck. “I'll get the lights.”

 

* * *

 

Saturday, July 23rd, 1976  
Santa Monica, California

Crowley woke up and quickly fumbled around for his sunglasses. He tried to sneak out of bed without waking Bob, but wasn't successful. Bob propped himself up on an elbow and smiled at Crowley. “I see you like the shades I got you.”

“I sure do.”

“I quite like seeing you in nothing but those,” Bob said, causing Crowley to bring his hands to his face in mock surprise.

“I'm gonna get cleaned up a bit,” Crowley said as he wandered towards the bathroom.

“Don't bother getting too clean,” Bob said. “It's just a pool party. The most anyone is going to be wearing is a set of swim trunks. We're about the same size. Do you need to borrow a pair?”

“If you don't mind.” Crowley closed the door behind him and took a long hot shower just for the hell of it. He emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing behind him, to see a pair of maroon swim trunks laid out on the bed. Crowley stepped into them; he and Bob were about the same size, but he was a touch thinner, so he pulled the string as tight as it would go and walked out towards the kitchen. James, Manuel, and Bob were sitting at the dining room table with coffee and donuts. The sliding glass doors were open and Crowley got a look at the magnificent pool and backyard.

“Good morning, you.” Bob got up from the table and kissed Crowley on the cheek. “You want some coffee?”

“Please. Am I appropriately dressed?”

James laughed. “I'd say a touch overdressed.” Manuel winked at Crowley; he got a feeling he had missed something, but the thought was quickly displaced by the cup of black coffee that seemingly appeared from nowhere. Bob patted Crowley on the back and sat down next to him; the four of them enjoyed a lazy weekend morning conversation around the dining room table for the next few hours.

 

* * *

 

Party guests started arriving around noon; Crowley wasn't too surprised to see the crowd was entirely made up of men. He staked out a spot at one of the lounging pool chairs next to the house and flopped down on his stomach. The sun felt great, and he closed his eyes to relax a bit. At some point, Crowley was distantly aware of someone calling his name and a hand on his back.

“Hmm?” Crowley lifted his head up to see Bob sitting on the chair just opposite his.

“You're so pale,” Bob said. “Are you sure you're not going to burn?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Crowley said. He sat up, adjusted his sunglasses, and looked around. In the brief time that he'd laid his head down for a rest, it seemed everyone had taken off their swim trunks and was wandering around naked. Everyone, except for him. Crowley put a hand over his sunglasses to give a bit of extra shade and was able to see that Bob was also still clothed.

“Hey, I'm sorry. I forgot – I should have told you everyone would likely be, um, au naturale,” Bob said. “But I'm gonna stay in my trunks, too. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.” He laid a hand on Crowley's knee and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

It took Crowley a minute to put it all together; when he did, he was touched as always by Bob's consideration and care. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, placing his hand on Bob's face and kissing him softly on the lips. “If anyone asks, tell them I'm shy.” He lowered his voice and whispered directly into Bob's ear: “I know you can't see it, but I just winked.”

Bob threw his head back and laughed heartily. Crowley grinned. “Do you need anything, beautiful boy? I'm gonna go change the music.”

“I'm all right.” Crowley adjusted his chair so he could lean back and watch the scene before him. He was feeling pretty good, to be honest; it had been fun to have a single drink last night with everyone and then wake up able to function. There was probably a reason alcohol was affecting him more strongly these days, right? Crowley closed his eyes again and rolled his neck around. The sunshine felt so good on his body. A dramatic musical intro started playing, and several men in the pool began cheering and clapping.

 _Where the boys are_  
_Someone waits for me_  
_A smiling face, a warm embrace_  
_Two arms to hold me tenderly..._

It seemed Crowley was the only one who didn't know the song, but by the time the ending rolled around, he was half-heartedly singing along with everyone. The joyous atmosphere reminded him of his weekend at Gay Freedom Day in San Francisco, but he felt so much more comfortable now than he had even a few weeks ago. Someone he didn't know came by with a tray of fancy blended drinks with a slice of pineapple on the side of the glass and offered Crowley one. He carefully took one off the tray, sipped it, then started readjusting his chair. It was surprisingly difficult to get the perfect angle; this must have been one of his side's inventions. Or had he come up with this? Crowley could never remember...

“Is this seat taken?” Crowley looked up to see Bob gesturing to the chair next to him.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley said. Bob threw a towel over the chair, then laid down on his stomach facing Crowley. He reached out and brushed Crowley's arm with his fingertips, stroking down until he interlaced his fingers with Crowley's. They held hands in silence for a nice long while.

“Bob?” James called out from behind the sliding glass door.

“I'm out here."

“You've got someone on the line for you. And he sounds pissed,” James said.

Bob muttered a string of profanities as he got up from the pool chair. Crowley flipped over and enjoyed the searing heat of the sun all over his body. He hadn't been this warm in a few hundred years; it was great. He hadn't even realized he'd nodded off again until he felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“Mmmmmph,” Crowley mumbled as he wiped a bit of drool off his mouth.

“Hey beautiful boy.” Bob sat down next to him. “Got some... unfortunate news.”

Crowley sat up quickly. “What's going on?”

“It's Frankie.” Bob sighed. “Valli. He's working on a project right now and has thrown a huge tantrum. Fired his engineer, his backup engineer, and made such a fuss over it that no one within a 90-mile radius is willing to step in. Won't work unless I'm there. Even though I'm not his producer anymore,” Bob said dryly.

“Ahh.” Crowley felt a pang of disappointment and tried to hide it from his face.

“I'm so sorry. I had some really nice plans for us.” Bob put his arm around Crowley and traced circles over his shoulder. “I have to take off in a few hours, but you're more than welcome to stay here.”

“Don't suppose you know when you'll be finished?”

Bob shook his head and sighed. “You've worked with Frankie before.” Crowley nodded.

“That I have. Well, I'll... I'll just get on my way in a few-”

“Please don't rush to leave,” Bob said. “James is here, Manuel is here, they're both happy to have you. Really. If you want to stay here for the rest of your time in LA, you're more than welcome.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said quietly. “I appreciate it.” He was still in awe of James and Bob's relationship. He could tell James wasn't putting on a show to make him feel welcome in their shared home; he'd even gone so far as to inquire about Crowley's favorite drinks and food preferences. Bob tipped Crowley's chin up and kissed him tenderly.

“I am so sorry I have to leave,” Bob said, with his lips against Crowley's neck. “But I promise I'll find a way to make it up to you.”

 

* * *

 

Crowley enjoyed the rest of the day in the warmth of the sun and even sat on the edge of the pool and put his legs in for a while. He'd managed to make some small talk with a few men, and eventually went inside after the sun set to shower and pack up his stuff. Crowley had heard a friend of Manuel's going on about the Beverly Hills Hotel and decided he was going to stay there for the next few days. After standing around in the kitchen drinking coffee and chatting with James and Manuel, he asked if James would call him a cab.

“AJ, are you absolutely sure?” James asked. “It's really no problem if you want to stay.”

“There's a room on the far side of the house. You won't even know we're here!” Manuel said playfully.

“So kind of you to offer, really, I think I could use a few nights by myself to decompress. You know how this business is,” Crowley said.

“If you insist.” James called Crowley a cab, which arrived about a half hour later. Crowley hugged James and Manuel and tossed his small travel bag into the trunk. Just as he was about to get into the cab, James tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh, one more thing; we were thinking we might come to London for the holidays,” James said casually. “Hopefully that works out. I'd love to have you show us around.”

“Yeah, right, that would be great,” Crowley stammered.

James smiled. “We’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Is it okay for me to come too?” Manuel asked playfully.

“Of course, more the merrier and all that,” Crowley called out as he shut the door. He waved as they pulled away. The hotel was not far from Bob’s house, and Crowley was in his hotel room sniffing bottles of signature toiletries not twenty minutes after stepping into the cab. Crowley ran a bath, turned on the news, and looked over the room service menu. And he was so damn tired, he was only moderately surprised to wake up in a cold bath full of partially deflated bubbles at 2am.

 

* * *

 

Monday, July 25th, 1976  
Beverly Hills Hotel  
Beverly Hills, California

Two days later, he was a bit bored and a bit twitchy; he'd gone out once with Freddie to a dance night and had gone to a record store one afternoon. The sessions were going well, but staying alone in a hotel room was starting to needle at him in a way he couldn't quite articulate. Crowley called room service for a bottle of white wine and was pouring a glass for himself when he was hit with an overwhelming wave of _longing_ ; he suddenly missed Aziraphale more than anything. He picked up his watch from the nightstand. It wasn't too late in London. He picked up the phone and, after three tries, figured out how to dial the bookshop.

“Hi, Angel,” Crowley said.

“Crowley! How lovely to hear from you.” Aziraphale's soft voice washed over him and Crowley instantly felt at home.

“Are you... are you busy?”

“No, not at all. Just another day in the bookshop. I did work a few small miracles earlier, so, it's back to reading.”

“What are you reading?”

Aziraphale paused. Crowley hadn't ever been particularly curious about his reading habits. “Something quite fascinating. It's a 14th century illustrated prophecy and astrology text I obtained a few days ago.”

“Ooh,” Crowley said. He knew how excited Aziraphale would be about something like this. “How'd you _obtain_ it, Angel?”

“Well...” Crowley leaned back into the plush pillows as Aziraphale told him a riveting tale about the man who had come in with the manuscript. He had offered to sell the book to Aziraphale for a couple thousand pounds, then attempted to extort him by posing as an undercover police officer. Crowley hung on Aziraphale's every word as he narrated in great detail how he'd used more than a bit of magic to turn the floor of the bookshop into a putrid swamp, complete with hordes of flies and mosquitos. It seemed Aziraphale had succeeded in scaring the crook within an inch of his life, and he'd dashed out the door at the first opportunity, leaving the manuscript safely in Aziraphale's hands. Crowley laughed raucously at Aziraphale's holier-than-thou excuse: “Well, it wasn't as if he really deserved to have such a beautiful text, Crowley. There is only one copy of this in existence and I hardly think such a small-minded man deserves to keep it in his possession.”

“Hmm. Have to agree with you there. Anything else exciting happening at the shop?”

Aziraphale hummed, then began telling Crowley about a new organizational system he was trying out in the fiction section. They'd never spoken on the phone for this long before; Crowley's neck was starting to cramp up, so he used the most minor of demonic miracles to hold the phone against his ear without the use of his shoulder muscles. He switched positions again and again; first laying flat on the bed, then hanging his torso off, then sitting cross-legged on the floor leaning against the bed. Aziraphale continued to talk and talk and talk; he told Crowley every detail of the past four days of his life, including what he'd had to eat. Crowley was secretly thrilled; he loved listening to Aziraphale talk so much, he'd listen to him read the damned Bible. The angel was extolling the virtues of a Moroccan restaurant he'd visited for the first time two nights ago when he started to sound a bit maudlin.

“And it was a lovely time, really, but...”

“But?”

“It would have been nicer if, you know. If you had been here. With me.” Aziraphale sounded hesitant, perhaps even a bit shy.

“I'll be home soon. Do you wanna go again? I'll take you.” Crowley was feeling a bit bold from the wine and the fact that Aziraphale couldn't see his face.

“I would like that.” Aziraphale paused. “What time is it there?”

“It's... about midnight.” Crowley slurped down a bit more wine.

“What are you drinking?”

“White wine. It's warm here.”

“But what is it exactly?”

Crowley picked up the bottle from the nightstand and examined the label. “It's a 1975 Chateau Montelena. From Napa Valley.” The line went quiet for a beat too long. “Angel? You still there?”

“Ahh, yes. It's quite good, Crowley. I've never had Californian wine before.”

“Did you just miracle yourself a bottle of this wine?” Crowley climbed back up on the bed and turned the corner of the comforter down.

“I thought it would be a shame for you to be drinking alone,” Aziraphale said. “Seems a bit more fun this way.”

Crowley wriggled out of the robe and laid down on top of the covers. “I suppose so. Don't think we've ever done this before,” he said.

“No, I don't believe we have.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and covered all the bookstore's windows. No need for him to be open right now; it was a Wednesday. He sat back in his favorite chair and took off his bowtie.

“Seems to be a banner year for that.”

“For what? The Chateau Monte... Montelena?”

“No.” Crowley chuckled. “For things we haven't done before.”

Aziraphale let out a melodic hum. “That it is.” He undid the dozen or so buttons on his antique trousers and worked them off his body. “What about you, dear? How are you doing? Tell me what you've been up to on your trip.”

“So far, the usual.”

“What's the usual?” Aziraphale asked, searching for the question that would get Crowley talking for a longer stretch so he could enjoy the rich tones of the demon's voice.

“Right, so, lately it goes like this...” Crowley finished his second glass of wine and decided to hold off on more for the moment. He began detailing the steps of firing up a console, only to have Aziraphale ask him what a console was. Then he explained to Aziraphale the difference between musicians, singers, and bands; it took Crowley a good thirty minutes before he was talking about being in the studio with Freddie and the Sylvers. Aziraphale was fascinated by the idea of so many people singing together. He used his best angelic persuasive questions to keep Crowley talking and it wasn't long before he had a hand, then two, down his pants, gently stroking over his thighs, then down between them, then inside himself, thinking about Crowley's hands on him, imagining new possibilities for when his demon returned from his trip.

“Mmmm, and yeah. That's about it, Angel. More of the usual.”

Crowley stretched his arms above his head and let out a low throaty sound that undid the angel's resolve. Aziraphale couldn't help himself, and a high-pitched squeak escaped his mouth. Crowley was quiet on the other end of the line; there was no way he hadn't heard that.

“Crowley, I wonder if you might,” Aziraphale ran his fingers over his clit and bit back the louder sounds that threatened to spill out, “be up for trying something tonight.”

“Oh? You want to trying miracling me a bottle of wine?”

“Not quite. It's just that... well, I find myself missing you and the uh, the things you do. For me. To me,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley went silent. “What... sort of things?” He was fishing a bit; he knew it, but he still needed to hear it.

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, Crowley, at the moment I've got my trousers off and my fingers as far up inside me as they can go. As I was saying earlier – _ah_! – it would all be a _lot_ nicer if you were here.”

Crowley's eyes went wide. He'd never done this before; a few phone conversations with Bob had gotten flirty but had stopped short of this territory. “Tell me what I'd be doing if I were there.”

“If you were here, you'd probably have your hand where mine is right now, and I'd be quite close to begging you to put your face in between my thighs.”

Crowley choked, spat out a mouthful of wine, and watched it flow down the front of his chest. Who knew the Angel of the Eastern Gate had such an imaginative mind? “All right, I could do that for you. I'd do that for you anytime,” he said. Aziraphale moaned and Crowley _felt_ it through the line.

“Your voice, Crowley, it does things to me. When I'm listening to you on...” Shit. Aziraphale stopped; he was so close to giving himself away.

“When you're listening to me what?” Crowley asked. He shifted positions a bit and felt the lips of his labia slide together; getting Aziraphale wound up like this was turning him on, too.

“Anytime you talk,” Aziraphale rushed to correct himself, “it makes me think of when you're next to me and I can feel you.” He crooked his fingers up in an attempt to get a better angle. His hands were so slick they were almost dripping, and he felt the need to tell Crowley about it. “Just listening to you talk to me right now has me so wet, I'm – I'm making such a terrible mess of myself.”

Crowley sucked in a breath and let his hand wander up from his thighs and up to stroke his own folds. “If I were there right now, Angel, you can bet I'd be making a terrible mess of you.” He hiccupped; he wasn't nearly as drunk as he usually was when they were intimate, but he was pretty buzzed at this point. The phone offered a safety barrier Crowley desperately needed, and he let himself speak a few desires aloud for the first time. “I want to get on my knees and lick my way up your thighs, right into you. I want to taste you. I want you all over my _face_.” Crowley stopped talking, worried he'd taken it too far, that he'd revealed too much.

“Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. Crowley froze. “You shouldn't be able to say such things to me when you're so dreadfully far away.”

“You started it.”

“Yes, I did, but don't let me be the one to stop it!” Aziraphale sounded like he was out of breath.

Crowley laughed softly. “I won't be far away for too long.”

“When you get back, I sincerely hope you won't waste any time before getting to your, your – mmm – your mission. You must be so hard right now, thinking about it.” The words left Aziraphale's mouth before he could think about them and he immediately cringed; Crowley had never left him unsatisfied, but Aziraphale hadn't been able to get him off for a while now. Aziraphale felt quite self conscious about it and he could only imagine how Crowley felt since, in their usual fashion, they'd not ever really talked about it.

Crowley closed his eyes and continued rubbing his clit, which had indeed perked up a bit. “Sssssure is, Angel. So hard for you.” Wasn't exactly a lie...

“I want you to put your hand around it. Pretend it's me stroking you,” Aziraphale said breathily. Maybe this could be what would get Crowley feeling comfortable again. He felt his slick leaking out of him and imagined Crowley on his knees, his tongue circling his clit, licking him clean. “Ohhhh,” he moaned.

“Uh, yeah, I'm doing it right now,” said Crowley, who had the middle finger of his left hand tucked inside himself, stroking upwards against his g-spot, and the fingers of his right hand tracing firm circles around his clit. “Feels great.” Well, that was definitely the truth.

“I want to make you feel good, Crowley, more than anything, I want to,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley's thighs were starting to tense up; he was close. “Aziraphale, I'm gonna-”

“Oh, Crowley, I wish you were _here_ , I'd -” Aziraphale felt the waves of an orgasm building inside him; a few more strokes over his clit and he was coming, hard: “Oh, Crowley, you – I'm coming,” he wailed and continued to cry out, quite loudly. (Aziraphale had never really been able to hold himself back when it came to that.)

“Ah, fuck, Aziraphale – I'm – ahh,” Crowley shuddered as he came over his fingers; his head sunk back against the pillows and the phone fell down onto the bed. “Shit,” he muttered. He wiped his hands off on his robe and placed the phone next to his ear again.

“Did you drop me?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah, I did, you... you really got me there.” Crowley's voice was a bit rough. “That was so good.”

“Yes it was, it was very, _very_ good. I quite enjoyed myself.” Aziraphale pulled his hand out of his pants and wiggled out of them. He laid down on the sofa. What was the harm in asking? Surely he could at least ask, what was the worst that could happen? “But, um. I'm afraid I'm not quite... finished. Do you think you could go another round? If you would want to, that is, I'd -”

Crowley laughed as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I mean, I'll need a few minutes,” he lied as he reached down and began stroking his fingers over his clit again.

Aziraphale laughed; a joyous sound so delicious it felt like food to Crowley. “I guess I'll just have to wait for you to be ready then, dear.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello? Hello?” Crowley blinked one eye open; sunlight was streaming in through the window. Too damned bright. He reached out for his sunglasses from the bedside table but couldn't get his hand all the way there. The phone cord was kinked and tangled all around him.

“Hello? Crowley?” He looked down. Had Aziraphale stayed on the line this whole time?

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello from London. I take it it's morning where you are?” Aziraphale said.

“Mmmmph, yep, sun's out. Did you stay on the phone this whole time?”

“You fell asleep, and it seemed rude to just hang up without a proper goodbye. After... you know.” Aziraphale said. Crowley felt a heat coiling low in his belly. He reached down between his legs to find he was still wet.

“Well. That's. That was quite a good time, wasn't it?” he said hesitantly.

“Indeed it was,” Aziraphale purred. “When will you be back?”

Crowley felt like he couldn't catch his breath. “In a few days,” he squeaked.

“I am _quite_ looking forward to that, dear. But I'll let you get back to work. I'm about to head out to dinner with William.”

“William?” Crowley grimaced; he'd responded far too quickly to appear unaffected.

“Yes, you remember William, my friend from book club? He owns the flower shop a few streets over?”

“Oh, oh. Right. Well. Uh. I hope you have a nice time.”

“Sanjay was going to join us but he got swamped with a work project two days ago. I'll tell William you said hello.” Aziraphale didn't _say_ it, but it didn't sound like it was a date. Not that he wasn't entitled to go on a date. If that's what he wanted. Not like they were exclusive or anything, after all. Not that it mattered.

“Sounds good. I'll, uh, see you once I'm back?” Crowley asked tentatively.

“I believe you said you'd take me out for Moroccan food?”

Crowley heard the anticipation in Aziraphale's voice and grinned. “Indeed I did.”

* * *

 

Crowley nodded at the young man working behind the counter, set his key down, and was almost to the front door when he was stopped by a polite request.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes?” Crowley turned around.

“You have an unpaid balance,” the clerk said.

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems there was a,” the clerk glanced down at the counter, “nine-hour phone call to London from your room.”

“Ah, right.” Crowley fished his wallet out of his pants pocket. “What's the damage.”

“The outstanding balance is two thousand, four hundred and sixty dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

“What?!” Crowley screeched.

“Sir, it's, an international call, the rates are-”

Crowley snapped his fingers and the clerk's face froze into a blank expression. He slowly backed away from the counter. Yeah, sure, he could conjure money out of thin air, but these prices were downright Hellish! “Probably one of our side's doing,” Crowley muttered. Everyone in the lobby was suddenly too engrossed in conversation or work to notice him walking out the door and into a cab that had materialized seemingly out of thin air.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday, July 26th, 1976  
Total Experience Recording Studios  
Hollywood, California

 

On his last day in LA, Crowley was in the studio with Freddie listening to the mixes they'd worked on over the past few days. The record was sounding good; Crowley was going to ensure it was a hit, but he suspected it would have been regardless of his demonic interventions.

“Did I play the lead single for you?” Freddie asked.

“What's it called?”

“Hot Line? Upbeat number, got some phone sounds on it and stuff.”

“Hmm. I don't remember it,” Crowley said.

“Ahh, you gotta hear this one, then.” Freddie switched out the tape and pressed play; an upbeat keyboard riff kicked the track before the singers came in.

 _Hot line, hot line_  
_Calling on the hot line_  
_For your love, for your love_  
_Hot line, hot line_  
_Calling on the hot line_  
_On the hot line_

“Hey, can you run that back from the beginning?”

“Sure, man.” Freddie rolled the tape back and played it from the top. Crowley stared at his watch. “What's up?”

“I just had to tell you that the first twenty-two seconds of this song are absolutely flawless. You've outdone yourself,” Crowley said.

“Well, thank you.”

“The band is tight, the sound is good, production sounds solid. I think you've got yourself another hit right here.”

“I hope so. I've enjoyed working with them.” They listened to the rest of the song, and then Freddie stood and stretched, cracking his back in the progress. “Ahhh.”

Crowley got out of his chair and grabbed his bag. “Well. Another great session. Pleasure working with you. I should let you get-”

“Shut up, AJ!” Freddie exclaimed. “I said I was gonna get you high.”

Crowley tilted his head to the side. “Can't say no to that.” He watched as Freddie shut down the console and the tape machine, then followed him out the live room. Freddie sat down on the steps leading down to the parking lot; Crowley watched as he got out some rolling papers. He sat down and leaned his head against the rail. Freddie worked fast; it was only a few moments before he held up a perfectly rolled joint.

“You got a light?” he asked.

Crowley stopped himself just before resorting to magic and dug his favorite lighter out of his jacket pocket instead. “You got any other projects coming up?”

“Yeah, I got asked to work a few songs for this movie,” Freddie said. “Some disco movie.” He took a hit off the joint and passed it to Crowley.

“Hmm. Sounds... interesting?” Crowley said tentatively.

“It's the same shit I told you about, man. They're already taking all this and, and, they're making a movie about it. Mark my words. This is gonna hit, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the whole entire world is gonna try to get their music played on a disco floor. It's gonna explode. And I'm not sure that's gonna be a good thing.”

“Are they paying you?”

“Oh-ho-ho, yes indeed, the paycheck is...” Freddie raised his eyebrows. “It's not small.”

“Can you use the money?” Crowley coughed and handed the joint back to Freddie.

“Of course I can use the fuckin' money, man, I got kids, I got a wife, I'd like to take a vacation sometime before I'm dead-”

“Then take the money."

“Everyone's gonna suck the soul right out of it,” Freddie said. “I'm working my ass off on this stuff. I mean, you're here, you heard it, some of it's filler, but that's life. Some of it's real good.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, it _is_ good. I wouldn't have come to help your ass otherwise.” That got quite the laugh out of Freddie.

“I don't know, man. I just. I don't want everything I've worked on to be some passing trend. I wanna make something that's gonna last, you know? Something... something to be remembered by.” Freddie finished the last of the joint and crushed it under his heel.

“Freddie, I have no doubt you're gonna do just that.” Crowley patted him on the back.

“I hope you're not full of shit,” Freddie said dryly as he began rolling another joint.

“As you're well aware, I am absolutely full of shit. But not about this.”

Freddie shot Crowley a look, and then they both busted up into riotous laughter. They sat on the steps and talked into the wee hours of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie Perren had quite a career, I really encourage everyone to dig into his production work if you can because... damn. He's quite an important figure in our story! hehe.


	29. I Wanted It Too, Just Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob and James (and Manuel!) come to London for the holidays. Donna and the gang head to yet another party at Freddie Mercury's house. Bob comes to an important realization, and some necessary, but difficult, conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends. This is the longest chapter yet at almost 10k words (ahh!) - It's very angsty at points, but this is a very important inflection point in the story, I am thinking of it sort of as a particularly important rollercoaster pivot point if that makes sense. From here on, things will be... well, you'll see how they will be. ;) 
> 
> Please mind the new tags about body image - it's not too serious but I want to make sure everyone's aware. Thanks so. much to everyone following along and leaving such lovely and encouraging comments. I'm sure there are some spelling & formatting errors in here but I just need to get this OFF THE PAGE and into the story so I can breathe. Don't be surprised if there are minor edits later on. Thank you all so much for following along with us!

Monday 13 December 1976  
Soho, London

 

The end of another year approached; things seemed to be getting busier and busier. Crowley was working on sessions more frequently. He was being asked to DJ more often. And through it all, he was trying to make sense of his life. Back in July, he'd gotten his first interview request, and after an overloaded shelf full of records collapsed under its weight at Radio Invicta a few weeks ago, Roger had asked him if it was possible to have promotional materials forwarded to another address. Crowley had agreed; he was getting so many records mailed to his flat that he was running out of space. He found an office space in Soho about ten minutes away from the bookshop and set it up with a new record player and the finest speakers money could buy. After a week, Crowley got tired of staring at blank walls while listening to new albums, so he got a few new plants for the window and began decorating in earnest. Aziraphale didn’t know about the office and therefore wouldn’t be coming over, so Crowley let himself go a bit and put out a few of the angel and demon keepsakes he’d collected over the years. And eventually, Crowley had to buy a secondary phone line and set it up. He only gave the office number out for work related purposes, so he was surprised to receive a call from Bob on a Monday afternoon.

“Hello there, I'm looking for one AJ Crowley.”

Crowley laughed. “Not that I mind, but I didn't give you this number.”

“Ha! That's what happens when your star is rising, beautiful boy. People get your work number and call you at all hours of the day. You were mentioned in Rolling Stone last week, by the way. I kept an extra copy for you,” Bob said.

“Is that so?”

“It is. But I did call for a reason; I wanted you to be the first to know that James and I have decided to spend the holidays in London.”

Crowley didn't know exactly what this meant for him. “That's... really great. Great place to spend the holidays, London, lots of shops, lots of, uh, merriment-”

Bob laughed. “I know that, AJ, I've been to London before. I'm telling you about our visit because I was hoping you'd want to be a part of it.”

“Oh, right. Do you need a place to stay?” Crowley asked.

“No, AJ, we're going to be staying at the Inn at the Park for two weeks. I just wanted to make sure we could see you, that I could see you.”

“Oh.” Crowley felt warm; he had continued to talk to Bob on a regular basis for the past few months, but they hadn't had a chance to see each other since July due to work schedules. “Yes, that's. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot.”

“Good. I – well, both of us actually – would also love to meet your partner. So if it's not too short notice, we'd love to invite you both to dinner with us the day before Christmas Eve. That is, if you don't already have plans.”

Crowley froze. Oh, this was going to be tricky. Aziraphale hadn't reacted too well to the news that he and Bob were dating, even casually; he had no idea how the angel would feel about being asked to join in on their unconventional arrangement. “Right, yeah. Sure. I can make that happen,” Crowley said.

“Oh, wonderful! I'm very excited. We didn't pick a restaurant or anything yet.”

“I'm sure Az – Ezra would be happy to make a recommendation.” Crowley's throat felt a bit tight.

“You all right?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, great,” Crowley lied.

Bob hummed. “I'll take your word for it. I'm getting into town on that Tuesday, if you want to talk, you know, about anything. James and Manuel are working a flight from New York to London; they'll get in on Wednesday morning.”

“Sounds good.” Crowley tapped his fingers on the edge of his new desk and looked at the angel statue on the left corner of his desk.

“All right, cutie. I'll see you before you know it.” Bob hung up, and Crowley sat in his office for a while figuring out how to tell Aziraphale about all this. He remembered a conversation last week in which the angel brought up the fact that they hadn't eaten French food in quite some time. Perfect. Crowley would take the hint; he'd treat Aziraphale to a lovely lunch and then he'd tell him that his... boyfriend was coming to town and wanted to meet him. Oh, and that his boyfriend's partner and his boyfriend's partner's boyfriend were coming too, and that they'd all probably want to meet him. Crowley felt himself getting a little warm under the collar and decided to walk over to the bookshop. Might as well get this over sooner rather than later.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale was absolutely thrilled to close up shop and head over for a lovely roast chicken and pommes frites. Crowley was content to order cup after cup of black coffee and watch his angel enjoy one of his favorite cuisines.

“You know, Crowley, I was beginning to think you weren't getting the hint,” Aziraphale said glibly as he wiped the corners of his mouth. Something about the statement rubbed Crowley the wrong way and he grumbled. “What was that?” Aziraphale asked.

“If you want something, you can always just ask.” Crowley flagged down a waiter and ordered an entire bottle of wine.

Aziraphale seemed a bit taken aback by Crowley's bluntness, but wiggled slightly in his seat and raised his eyebrows at the demon. “I'll keep that under advisement.” When the waiter returned with the wine, Aziraphale ordered a crème brulee.

Crowley drank half a glass of wine in a single gulp and decided to blurt it out and get it over with. “So, uh, the man I've been seeing. Bob. His name is Bob. He's coming to London for the holidays.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale did his best to appear composed and unbothered, using a tiny miracle to cover up a few drops of spilled wine.

“He wants to meet you,” Crowley said. Fuck, this was awkward. Aziraphale shot him a look that could have frozen the fires of Hell and stabbed his spoon aggressively into his crème brulee.

“Why would he want to do that?”

“Um. So, he's coming with his partner and he wants to meet, you know. My partner,” Crowley whispered the last two words into his wine, but Aziraphale heard them nonetheless.

“All right,” Aziraphale replied good-naturedly, surprising even himself. Perhaps his famed powers of persuasion would work when self-applied. He was about to find out.

“All right? So you're – you'll-”

“I would love to meet them both.” Aziraphale sucked in a breath and reached over to pat Crowley's hand. He was going to settle for a quick brush of his fingers against Crowley's skin, but he found he didn't want to stop touching the demon, despite the fact that they were in public. Aziraphale faltered and let his hand stay where it was.

Crowley wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he enjoyed the feel of Aziraphale's hand on his own, so before the angel could take it back, Crowley flipped his hand over and laced their fingers together. He was feeling a bit shy, so he slowly guided their hands off the table and under the tablecloth. Aziraphale quickly changed the subject and began telling Crowley about his work commitments over the holiday season, and Crowley finished the bottle of wine while Aziraphale talked on and on. At the end of the meal, they stood and left the restaurant the same way they always did. The moment was too delicate and precious for either of them to bring it up, but it consumed both Crowley and Aziraphale's every waking thought for the next two days.

* * *

 

Tuesday 22 December 1976  
The Bookshop

Aziraphale was a nervous wreck. He'd gotten a chance to talk through some of his feelings about tomorrow's dinner with his friends from book club; Jimmy, Sanjay, Larry, and William had stayed late and given him well-meaning advice that ranged from meaningless platitudes to witty quips. He didn't really feel like he had a handle on the situation, but he did feel much better knowing he had a few friends to talk it over with. William and Larry had also been sure to mention that they didn't have anything planned for tomorrow night, and that Aziraphale should feel free to call either of them if he needed to talk afterwards. Aziraphale walked everyone to the door and locked up the shop, then headed back to his office nook.

He switched on the radio to hear a new Radio Invicta jingle that faded into an upbeat piano and drum intro. The angel picked up a book and sat down in his favorite chair. Aziraphale was only able to read a single paragraph before the lyrics sidetracked him, as they were often doing these days.

 _Girl, don't leave me_  
_Walkin' in the footsteps of another man_  
_Holdin' onto your love just as hard as I can_  
_Livin' in the shadows of the one you lost_  
_Hoping maybe one day, I can win your love_

Aziraphale glared at the radio. It wasn't even Crowley's night, yet all the songs were speaking to him. He tried to keep reading, but ended up just sitting and listening to Radio Invicta until they went off air.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday 23 December 1976

The day had finally arrived; Bob called Crowley late Tuesday night to let him know he'd made it and to give him their hotel room and contact information. At Bob's suggestion, Crowley had made a plan for the evening. Aziraphale and Crowley would go together to the restaurant, meet Bob and James there, and then Crowley and Bob would spend the next few days together. Crowley, aided by the Bentley, drove a good five kilometers below the speed limit the entire way there, and he made a big show of opening the door and escorting Aziraphale out of the car.

“AJ! Hey!” Crowley squinted; he recognized James's voice and slowly their silhouettes came into view. Crowley felt Aziraphale tense up and he brought his arm up around the angel's waist. He shot Aziraphale a nervous smile before Bob and James walked up to them. The introductions were blessedly short; Aziraphale noticed that neither Bob nor James greeted him with the same open animosity that Donna had shown him for their first meeting. He could tell they were both somewhat suspicious of him, but he was going to do his best to head into tonight with an open mind. Aziraphale had booked the best table in the restaurant for tonight's meal, and he caught the slight raise of Bob's eyebrows as he sat down.

Aziraphale smiled. “Shall I order us some wine?”

“Please,” Bob said politely. “We'll trust your recommendations.” Aziraphale had been coming to this restaurant for thirty years and knew the wine list better than certain holy texts. He ordered the wine for the table after everyone had made their menu selections.

After an awkward start where all four men tried to speak at once, James laughed. “Let me begin. Ezra, AJ tells us you're a... book seller?”

“Yes, I own a bookshop, here in Soho,” Aziraphale said primly. James asked a few more questions to him directly, and Bob struck up a conversation with Crowley. Aziraphale did his best to carry on talking with James, but he couldn't help overhearing bits and pieces of what Bob was saying to Crowley.

“Remember that night in San Francisco?” Bob asked Crowley quietly. He'd reached across the table and taken Crowley's hand, but what truly struck Aziraphale was the look on Crowley's face. Crowley was absolutely enthralled by Bob; he was leaning forward so he was as close to Bob as he could be across the table. Crowley kept laughing softly and glancing downward demurely. Bob made Crowley laugh quite often, Aziraphale noticed. When Bob reached across the table and tucked a piece of Crowley's hair behind his ear, the angel thought he might discorporate on the spot. Heavens, he'd never been so fucking jealous in his entire life. He'd longed to touch Crowley's hair for millennia. He hadn't really done it too much since Mesopotamia, and here, this human was reaching out so casually? Aziraphale picked up his glass of wine.

“Ezra?” James asked.

“Yes, yes, I'm sorry,” Aziraphale sputtered. “Would you mind repeating that?”

James shot Aziraphale a mildly annoyed look, but complied nonetheless. “I was asking if you'd ever been to San Francisco?”

“I haven't.”

“It's really quite a lovely city,” James said.

“Absolutely,” Bob added. “AJ absolutely loved it.” Crowley, Bob, and James all laughed, and Aziraphale joined in.

Bob started talking about something called Gay Freedom Day and Crowley grinned from ear to ear. Aziraphale tried his best to focus on the conversation, but all he could hear was a whooshing sound in his ear as if a storm was blowing around him. He saw everyone's mouths moving and smiles forming; he just couldn't focus enough to actually listen. Bob was quite handsome, with his blond hair and his perfect smile; he was thin, he looked athletic. He was wearing modern clothing that fit him perfectly, he told jokes that made Crowley laugh, and Aziraphale felt more and more inadequate with every passing moment. The angel looked down at his rounded stomach, which was pressing up against the edge of the table, then brought his napkin down to cover it up as best he could.

Aziraphale saw Bob's hand curled around his fork and thought of those hands touching Crowley. He felt the jealousy rising within his chest, threatening to pour out. He knew he couldn't make a scene here; this was important to Crowley, and he needed to keep himself together. The jealousy within him needed somewhere to go; Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment and imagined it seeping out of him slowly, spilling onto the ground, making its way to the river Thames, perhaps bursting upwards into green fireworks and burning out with the same intensity he felt searing the inside of his throat at the moment.

“The light is doing odd things here,” James said, looking up and laughing politely. Bob looked up at the light fixture above the table. Crowley turned his head to the side slightly and looked at Aziraphale. Indeed, there were odd things happening, but Crowley knew full well it wasn't the light. It was Aziraphale. The jealousy was radiating off of him to the point where the light above them was now glowing a soft but distinct green, changing the appearance of everything in its path. Aziraphale's beige jacket was now more of a celery color. The frames of James's glasses were a deep shamrock. Bob's blonde hair had flashes of lime. Crowley's vision wasn't that great as it was, but the green shades washing over everything made it almost impossible for him to even see his drink. He suddenly felt a bit woozy.

“Excuse me.” Crowley tapped Aziraphale on the arm. “I – gotta get up for a minute.”

Aziraphale stood up and took Crowley's hand. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I'm fine, just gonna get some fresh air. I'll be back in a minute.” Crowley waved his hand and headed towards the loo.

“AJ, wait,” James said as he got up. “You look a bit pale. I'll go with you.” He shot Bob a look as they walked to the door.

Aziraphale watched them go, then looked across the table at Bob. “Your partner is quite lovely-”

“Look, Ezra. I can tell you're not too happy to be here, so I'm going to get right to it,” Bob said flatly.

“Right.” Aziraphale swallowed.

“I get the sense that you are more of a _traditional_ man. And I guess there's nothing wrong with that. But if AJ isn't 'man' enough for you, you should be honest with him.”

Aziraphale's brow was furrowed in confusion. “I'm not – I really don't know what you mean by that, Bob.”

“I think you do,” Bob said. Aziraphale took a slow sip of his cocktail and assessed his options. It would be no problem at all for him to persuade Bob into telling him exactly what he meant; Aziraphale could ensure Bob had no memory of the conversation with a simple snap of his fingers. He didn't typically use his powers like this, but, perhaps desperate times called for desperate measures? Aziraphale looked across the table at Bob; he thought of the advice his friends from book club had given him, and he decided to try something new.

“There's absolutely nothing wrong with Cr – with AJ,” he said calmly, staring into Bob's eyes.

“You should make sure he knows that.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. Okay. This method wasn't working quite as well as he had hoped. Time for another approach. “In the past,” he said hesitantly, “there have... been some occasions when I haven't... communicated with him to the best of my ability.” He saw the look on Bob's face and hurried to amend his statement. “Communicated in a way that is, in a way that is – clear to him. And I am trying very hard to... to do better.” He pursed his lips and stared at the tablecloth for a minute.

“Do you even love him?”

Aziraphale had his drink halfway to his mouth and used a frivolous miracle to avoid choking on it at such an inopportune moment. He swallowed, set the tumbler down, and met Bob's gaze. “Of course I do,” he said softly, as though Crowley would overhear, as though Heaven would send down a team of angels to whisk him away, as though God Herself might take this opportunity to smite him, to make him Fall, to _end_ him and with it, end every chance that he would have to truly make things right with Crowley. Whom he did love fiercely, even if he was terrified to admit it.

“All right.” Bob looked at him with an intensity he was used to seeing from Crowley, actually, and took a sip of his whisky. Aziraphale didn't know how to respond; he had no idea what Bob was talking about, what with Crowley being a 'traditional man.' Of course Crowley wasn't a traditional man, he was a demon. Aziraphale had seen Crowley take on hundreds, if not thousands, of physical appearances over the millennia, in all forms of gender presentation known to humankind, and some known only to celestial or demonic entities. "Be honest with me, how do you feel about this?"  
  
Aziraphale began to stammer. "Oh, well, I think dinner has been going well, I-"  
  
"I meant how I live my life, Ezra. How James and I live, how we love." Bob's tone of voice was a bit more measured now; he seemed less defensive.   
  
Aziraphale blinked and took a moment to think. "To be quite frank, I don't know much about it," he finally said, taking a sip of his wine.  
  
"Is this how you want to live your life?" Bob's blue eyes were boring directly into Aziraphale's; if the angel didn't know better, he'd think this was a yearly performance review and not a dinner with his... his... partner's... oh, whatever.   
  
Again, Aziraphale hesitated to buy himself some time to formulate a truthful, yet diplomatic, response. He settled for the most honest response that would reveal the least emotion. "I've never done this before," he said.   
  
"Ahh." Bob tilted his glass of wine towards him and Aziraphale watched the maroon liquid shift into a new shape. "But you do love him?" Bob asked again.   
  
"Very much so." Aziraphale breathed the words out as if he were praying; he did it without even thinking.   
  
“Then you need to treat him like you love him,” he said, just as Crowley and James walked back up to the table. Bob planted a kiss on James's cheek before he sat, and Aziraphale, still feeling a touch green, did the same to Crowley. Crowley froze and only sat down once Aziraphale gave him a gentle tap on the small of the back.

Aziraphale silently (and subtly) willed the time to pass more quickly, and due to Someone's divine grace, it did; he snuck out from the table during dessert to secretly pay the bill and leave a generous tip for the wait staff. Their next stop was another party at Freddie Mercury's flat. Aziraphale rolled his eyes to himself as he remembered the incident with the sword. Hopefully tonight would be a bit smoother...

 

* * *

 

100 Holland Road  
Kensington

 

Crowley had never been to Freddie Mercury's flat without an entire car full of records. On one hand, it was nice to be invited over to a party without the pressure of making a playlist that would gain the approval of one of his idols; on the other hand, Crowley had so many new records he'd either bought or been given as part of his work and he was itching to share them with people who would appreciate them. Manuel had joined them at a nearby pub and then, against Aziraphale's protests, they'd all squished into a black cab and headed over to Kensington. The five of them walked up the sidewalk to Freddie's flat.

Aziraphale paused and looked around. “Wasn't Donna going to be in town this week, too?”

“Yep,” Crowley nodded as he held the door open for everyone. “She's probably already here.” Crowley was the last to enter the flat, but he heard the cheerful welcome from a few steps behind. He stepped behind Bob to stand next to Aziraphale and put his arm around the angel's waist. Just in case there was any residual awkwardness.

“Oh, look at you two, it's my favorite couple,” Freddie said in a lilting voice, as if he hadn't drawn a sword on Aziraphale the last time they'd been in the same room. “How delightful of you both to be here. I'm thrilled.” He was wearing a red and silver sequined crop top and a pair of low slung see-through black lace leggings with a bright green set of pants underneath.

Aziraphale was looking a tiny bit less green, and gave Freddie a smile that was usually reserved for someone like Gabriel or Sandalphon. “Thank you for having us again, Freddie,” he said in a tone that had Crowley doing his best to hold back a laugh.

“I hear you have some other uh, friends in town as well?” Freddie raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and Crowley turned to Bob and James.

“Yes, I believe you know Bob Crewe, he's also a producer.” Crowley said as Bob stepped forward and shook Freddie's hand.

“This is my partner, James.” Freddie looked Bob and James up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“What a treat to meet you. I do hope you'll make yourself at home here,” Freddie said salaciously. Aziraphale looked over to catch the pleased, if nervous, laugher from Bob and James.

“And this is my boyfriend, Manuel,” James said, as Manuel extended a hand.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry; I'll only say it once. I'm a huge fan,” Manuel said, giggling.

“What an attractive trio you make!” Freddie exclaimed. “I just love meeting new people. Especially interesting ones! Please let me know if anything isn't to your expectations, or if there's anything – anything at all – that you need.” He winked and turned around; revealing that his skimpy green pants were actually a thong.

Bob shared a look with James, then with Manuel, and then with Crowley. “That guy takes 'rock star' to a new level.”

“Yes, he does,” Manuel said breathlessly. “Thank you so much for inviting us here. A dream come true! Now, where's the booze?”

* * *

 

Donna had arrived about an hour before everyone else; she greeted Crowley with her typical exuberance, and to Aziraphale's surprise, she gave him a hug and a smile upon seeing him. Perhaps she was a bit drunk, but Aziraphale didn't mind; he could use a bit of good luck with Crowley's friends, no matter the origin. He decided to spend the evening making himself useful and ended up being the bartender for an hour. It was indeed a frivolous use of miracles, but the angel justified his actions by the fact that everyone at the party was _far_ happier with a perfectly conjured cocktail in their hands.

For the first half of the evening, Bob and Crowley staked out a spot in the corner; Aziraphale kept his eyes on them as subtly as he could. It seemed they were catching up on what had happened since they'd last seen one another. And though Aziraphale didn't like to admit it, Crowley looked absolutely overjoyed to be spending time with Bob. He tried not to focus on the fact that Crowley's body seemed to be responding vastly differently to even the most innocent of Bob's touches, and tried to think about Crowley's happiness. He seemed at ease; he was tossing his long hair around, and Aziraphale hadn't seem him laugh this much since... oh, probably the 14th century. Crowley was enjoying himself, and Aziraphale knew he needed to work on controlling his own feelings so he didn't cause a scene. He wasn't doing the _greatest_ job of hiding his jealousy, but dammit, he was trying, and that counted for something, right? After exchanging a very awkward look with Bob while he had his arm slung around Crowley's waist, Aziraphale decided to stay in the kitchen for the rest of the evening; it would be a better use of his time to work on conjuring up special drinks, rather than continuing to stare at Crowley and Bob, further feeding the green-eyed monster that had been following him all night. He'd gotten to talk more with Manuel and James; he focused on the conversation this time and was surprised to find their company quite enjoyable. Donna had been rotating between the kitchen, the balcony, and the living room, and Aziraphale gave her his full attention every time she returned for a drink. Of all the people here tonight, she was the most important to Crowley. Aziraphale was using everything in his power to make a better impression this time around.

“Hey, you,” Donna said, stumbling into the kitchen. “These drinks are absolutely fantastic. I don't know what the hell you're making, but I want another one.” She handed Aziraphale her empty glass.

“Absolutely, dear,” Aziraphale said, turning around and refilling her drink with a bit of angelic magic. He turned around and presented the finished product to her with a flourish. “How long are you in town?”

“I think, uh, I think I'm going to stay until the 10th,” she said.

“Well, that's lovely. London is a wonderful place.”

“Yes! Couldn't agree more. Plus my best friend is here,” she said, tilting her head towards the living room, Aziraphale assumed she was referring to Crowley. Aziraphale felt some of his jealousy ease. It was good for Crowley to have friends; the angel realized it had been a great thing for him. Perhaps he needed to gain this perspective to better understand what was happening between Crowley and Bob.

“Oh my God, Ezra. I know what we should do. We should take AJ shopping,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.

“Oh, I would absolutely love that,” Aziraphale said earnestly.

“Ezra?”

“Yes?”

“Just wanted to say...” Donna put an arm around his waist, “I know. I know things haven't been perfect between, well, _certainly_ between you and me,” she laughed, “But also, you know, AJ and I, we talk a lot, and. Ugh. I'm rambling – sorry, I'm drunk, but I'm glad you're showing up more for AJ.” She smiled at him, and Aziraphale was overwhelmed by her beauty and her overall energy. He understood why Crowley treasured her friendship.

“I appreciate that, Donna. AJ is very lucky to have you as a friend.” Donna winked at him and nearly ran into the doorframe of the kitchen. Aziraphale reached out and stopped her head from colliding with the wood.

“All right, Ezra, don't let me have any more, you hear?” she said with a smile as she headed back out into the living room.

There was a lull in the music, and in the amount of people coming into the kitchen searching for alcohol, so Aziraphale went into the living room to check out the situation. Freddie was at the turntable putting something on. A dramatic riff with a brass echo kicked off the song and everyone in the room began dancing before the female vocalists even came in:

 _Nothing but a heartache every day (nothing but a heartache)_  
_Nothing but a teardrop all of the way (nothing but a heartache)_  
_Loving a bad guy is such a sin, yeah_  
_He's got me all won, can I get him?_

Aziraphale scanned the room and saw Crowley dancing with Bob; they both knew the song and were singing it to each other. He took one look at them entwined on the dance floor, moving in perfect rhythm, and he knew his fuse was blown for the evening. It was time for him to leave, before he did or said something he would regret, or something that would hurt Crowley's feelings. He tried to wave at Crowley, but Bob saw him first. Aziraphale nodded and tried his best to keep the emotion off his face as he locked eyes with the man who would be spending the next week with Crowley; he wasn't sure if he succeeded or not. Bob turned Crowley around so he could see Aziraphale, and the angel waved as he put on his coat. The message would surely translate. They'd see each other in a week or so. Just as he turned to leave, he saw Crowley lurch forward, out of Bob's embrace, and over to where Aziraphale was standing.

“Are you leaving already?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, I think it's time for me to, uh, to head home.”

Crowley lowered his sunglasses so Aziraphale could see the tiniest sliver of his brilliant yellow eyes. “Do you want me to go with you?” Aziraphale knew that if he asked, Crowley would go with him; but he also knew that Crowley didn't really want to leave.

“Whatever you'd like to do, dear,” Aziraphale said; he was surprised to find he meant it. Crowley deserved to have this, he really did. He'd been trying to have a relationship with Aziraphale for thousands of years, and the angel had always found a way to turn him down, mostly due to his own fear of what punishments could be handed down. Crowley would probably (hopefully) always rely on Aziraphale for companionship, but it was obvious Crowley also needed something Aziraphale couldn't give him. Aziraphale held his breath as he waited for Crowley's response.

Crowley looked down at his boots. “He's only in town for a week.”

“Exactly. So why don't you enjoy the time that you have.” Aziraphale attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, but it remained firmly stuck. (How ridiculous, angels didn't even have the same anatomy as humans). Crowley was chewing on his lip and had stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Right, then,” Aziraphale said. “I'll just be on my way.”

“Well, wait. Let me walk you out, Angel,” Crowley said. He waved to Bob and mouthed that he would be back soon. Aziraphale headed down the stairs with Crowley's hand on his shoulder.

After this evening, Aziraphale understood why Crowley enjoyed Bob's company; the man was charming, intelligent, kind, cultured, and _really_ good with people. He'd only gotten a chance to talk with Bob a bit, as he'd been locked in a battle with his own envy for most of the evening. However, Aziraphale had stayed present the whole time, rather than pouting in a corner or escaping to the balcony. All right, sure; he'd used a bit of angelic persuasion to ensure his interactions with everyone went a bit better than last time. It was a surprise to discover that the more he tried to be kind, nice, and polite to Crowley's friends, the kinder and friendlier they were with him. He had grown used to so many negative feedback loops when it came to Crowley; it was quite a welcome change to try something different. Aziraphale thought of his new friends William, Jimmy, Larry, and Sanjay as he met new people over drinks and did his best to engage in thoughtful conversation with them. Perhaps there were some other people he might be able to enjoy himself with. And why shouldn't he? He had spent so much time over the millennia working miracles for humans, viewing them only as his charges. And of course, there was the heartbreak involved in getting to know a human on an individual level only to watch them eventually grow old and die. But was being so alone, all the time, truly the best way to avoid that pain? Aziraphale realized he had quite a lot to reflect on when it came to his typical approach to humanity.

“Well. I hope you have a wonderful time with Bob while he's in town.” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley could see right through the expression Aziraphale had plastered on his face; he knew it well. Aziraphale was upset, and Crowley was never more aware of how connected they were than in moments like this. “Thanks, Angel.” Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale and placed his fingers on the angel's chin, tipping it up. He was so overwhelmed with emotion he could barely hold it back. Crowley looked at his lips, then up to his huge blue eyes. He wanted so badly to tell Aziraphale even some of what he felt. Instead, he closed his eyes and kissed the angel, looping his arm around Aziraphale's torso. Crowley felt Aziraphale let out a gasp and ran his hand down to the small of Aziraphale's back before pulling away. “I'll see you soon, yeah?”

“Of course, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked down at the ground so he didn't have to watch Crowley leave, then turned to hail a cab. The angel managed to hold it together until he was alone in the back of the black cab on the way back to the bookshop. Any good cabbie has seen his share of human emotion while driving, especially at night, and this cabbie was no different. He was pulling out onto the main road headed towards Soho when he heard the unmistakable sound of sniffling coming from behind his seat. The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror to see a rather posh gentleman with hair that resembled a halo, dressed in varying shades of beige and cream. He saw his passenger dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief and cleared his throat.

“You all right there, sir?”

Aziraphale glanced up to see a kind pair of eyes in the rearview mirror. “I'm so sorry. I'm – I'm going to be all right.”

The cabbie raised an eyebrow, managing to convey a broad range of emotions while keeping his eyes on the road. “You don't look like you're gonna be all right, love.” Aziraphale's eyes narrowed. “Oh, don't give me that look. I'm a fellow pansy. So, tell me. What's got you crying in the back of my cab?”

“Well. Thank you for asking. I just... ” Aziraphale knew once he started talking, he wouldn't be able to stop, but he couldn't help himself. He managed to get out most of the relevant details by the time they pulled up to the bookshop. The cabbie nodded thoughtfully, then turned around and looked him in the eyes.

“Sometimes you've just got to, you know. Go for it. Tell him how you feel. You won't regret it.” He tipped his cap at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded and paid the fare. “Thank you,” he said as he stepped out of the cab. Aziraphale was a few steps away from the cab when he thought perhaps he should bestow a few blessings upon the cabbie. He turned around, but the cab was completely gone. That was odd. Aziraphale was a bit shaken up by the whole thing and quickly let himself into the shop. He headed straight to the phone, circling it for a few minutes before working up the courage to call a friend. He tried William first and got no answer, so he called Larry.

“Hello?”

“Larry? It's Ezra.”

“Hey, you all right?” Larry asked. “How did it go tonight?”

Aziraphale mustered up a quiet laugh. “Well, it went – it was something, for sure. I know it's a bit late but are you – would you want to come over for a drink?”

“It'll take me twenty minutes to walk over,” Larry said.

“I have more than enough very fine alcohol here to make it worth your while.”

“You sure everything went all right?”

Aziraphale paused. “On some levels, it went better than I expected. But I would really appreciate some company this evening.”

“Well, as an old queen once told me, that's what friends are for,” Larry quipped. “Just don't expect me to be looking all pretty.”

About twenty minutes later, Larry showed up at the bookshop, a few stray streaks of makeup clinging to his face. Aziraphale said nothing about it, and the two of them stayed up drinking until the first rays of the sun started to warm the interior of the bookshop. Larry said he was going to 'rest his eyes' for a moment, slumped over, and began to snore. With a wave of his fingers, Aziraphale ensured Larry wouldn't have a hangover in the morning. Then, he cracked his neck and sat down at his desk to work his way through a small pile of prayer requests. It was the holidays, after all. He had gotten through about a hundred simple requests when he realized Gabriel might be doing one of their inane yearly “check-ins” soon. Perhaps it would be best to attempt to schedule the meeting, and reduce the possibility that he might be surprised by a visit from his least favorite Archangel. Aziraphale fired off a quick celestial note and flicked it upwards; he requested to meet with Gabriel on the 5th of January, seeing as the holidays were typically a busy time for celestial entities. He'd never done this before, so it would be interesting to see what happened. Aziraphale ran a fingertip over his eyebrow, adjusted his glasses, and continued granting minor miracles until noon, when Larry woke up with a dramatic groan.

* * *

 

Around the same time  
Mayfair

Crowley and Bob made it back to Crowley's flat around 1am. After they stumbled in and got out of their coats, Crowley poured two generous glasses of whisky (the good stuff) and took them over to the sofa, where Bob was rubbing his feet to warm them up. He placed a hand on Bob's jaw and kissed him, softly at first, and then he crawled atop Bob's lap and slipped his tongue deeper into his mouth. Bob let out a quiet moan, and Crowley shivered with excitement; he hoped it wouldn't be long before they were both naked in Crowley's bed.

“I've got a surprise for you tonight,” Crowley said into Bob's ear. Bob went still, then placed his hands on Crowley's cheeks.

“AJ, wait, wait.” Bob had a serious look on his face. “We need to talk.”

Crowley moved off his lap and sat down on the sofa. “Okay.”

“I'm not sure if we can – I don't know if we can keep doing this.” Bob said.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, I was sort of talking about today, in general.”

Crowley scoffed. “Well, sure, I mean. It was a bit awkward, I'll give you that. If you don't want to see Ezra again or have us all spend time together, I guess I can-”

“No, AJ. I don't think we can keep doing this. This, meaning what's going on between us.” Bob's face fell.

“What – what do...?” Crowley was so stunned he couldn't get the words out.

“Here,” Bob said, taking Crowley's hands. Crowley hadn't even known they were shaking. Of course Bob noticed; he always noticed these things. “There were a lot of reasons I wanted to meet your partner, but the main reason I – and James, I might add – wanted to meet Ezra was to... to make sure everything between you two was all right. Seeing as how, he's your primary partner. At least that's how I've understood it all this time?”

“Yeah,” Crowley took a sip of whisky. “I guess, yeah. He is.”

“Okay, so.” Bob paused, then spoke haltingly, as if he were putting it all together as he went along: “That means people have expectations of one another, and that – all relationships – go more smoothly when those expectations are clearly defined. It doesn't seem to me like you two have really had... any sorts of conversations about what it means for us, you know, you and me, to be dating, even if we don't see each other that often. It's important-”

Crowley interrupted Bob with a dramatic hand gesture. “But it's fine, Bob, it's fine, or it can be-”

“No, it's _not_ fine, AJ. It doesn't seem like your partner is okay with with me seeing you. And pardon me for saying so, but I also get the feeling you haven't been exactly forthcoming with him about all this.”

Crowley bit his lip. Bob was right; he hadn't been as honest with Aziraphale about it all as he really should have been, but they weren't even _together_ together, so did it really matter? “You're not wrong,” Crowley finally said when he was able to speak. “As I've said a lot over the past few years, the situation between us is... complicated.”

“And you've never really explained to me exactly what that means.” Bob's voice was steady and firm. He didn't take his eyes off Crowley, holding the moment in place long after it got uncomfortable. Crowley shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Without going into every little detail.” Fuck. Crowley never thought he'd have to try to explain any of this in more detail than he'd shared with Donna. “There are a lot of forces in both of our lives that don't want to see us together. Forces that would happily... ruin us for how we feel.” Crowley started to reach for his tumbler of whisky and stopped himself; it could wait. “But it's always been worse for him than it is for me.” Crowley looked at Bob; he wasn't accustomed to seeing such a serious look on his face, and he felt a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, I think it's long past time for you two to talk about it.” Bob took a sip of his whisky.

“I-” Crowley opened his mouth to object and was instantly cut off.

“AJ. Ezra was either glaring at me or looking at you like his... like his heart was breaking.”

“He was trying -”

“I _know_ he was trying, AJ. I _know_ that. But I don't think this type of arrangement is really what he wants, and I can't be with you if that's true. This whole thing,” Bob gestured between the two of them, “being open, being... free, it only works if everyone's on board. I don't think it's, it's not right for us to do this if your partner isn't fully supportive.”

“I understand,” Crowley said after a long pause. He felt like his knees were going to give way, and was suddenly very aware of the texture of the lacy lingerie he'd conjured up to wear underneath his clothes.

“He wants you all to himself,” Bob said softly. “And honestly, I don't blame him.” He looked up at Crowley with a sad smile.

Crowley swallowed and did his best to pull himself together. “Right. Well. I guess, uh. I guess this is it then, huh?” He stood, expecting Bob to do the same.

“ _Is_ this it?” Bob crossed his arms and looked at Crowley.

Crowley put a hand on his hip. “I don't – I have no idea what's going on.”

“Do you want me to leave right now?”

“No,” the word came out almost as a sob and Crowley did his best to hold it back. “I've never done this before,” he mumbled.

Bob's brow was furrowed. “AJ, you know that I'm not – I'm not going to stop being your friend, being in your life, unless... unless that's what you want.”

“That's not, that's – no. I don't want that,” Crowley stammered.

“Good.” Bob took Crowley's hand, and somehow it was already different; Crowley could feel it. “All this is real, it's still real, okay?” Crowley nodded. Thank somebody for his sunglasses; he felt so vulnerable and exposed. Bob, being the sensitive and gentle person he was, could sense Crowley was moments away from falling apart, and pulled him over to nestle against his neck. “Come here. It's okay.” Crowley tried to swallow his tears, but he just wasn't able. He allowed himself to cry into Bob's shoulder, and didn't even notice himself slowly slipping into sleep.

When Crowley awoke, Bob was snoring loudly with his head slung all the way back over the sofa at what looked to be a remarkably uncomfortable angle. Crowley pushed his sunglasses up over his eyes and reached under Bob's neck, lifting his head up and taking away the muscle soreness that was undoubtedly there.

“Mmm, good morning, you,” Bob said as he stretched out. He placed a hand on Crowley's cheek. “How are you?”

The momentary respite Crowley had gained from being unconscious quickly faded, and all the hurt and pain and sadness flowed back to the front of his mind. He sighed. “I've been better,” he said.

Bob rubbed Crowley's back a bit and smiled sadly. “Yeah.” The silence lingered for a while until Bob cleared his throat. “I don't have anything planned for the next few days. I know this probably isn't what, um, either of us had in mind, but, if you want to spend the time together... as friends?” His voice trailed off into a question and Crowley took a moment to think.

“Um. I appreciate it, I do,” Crowley said, “but I think I need a bit of time to, uh. Think about it all.”

“I understand,” Bob said as he stood up. “Let me clean up a bit and then I'll... I'll get out of your hair.” Crowley's heart sunk as Bob made his way to the loo. He felt more alone than he'd felt in a while, all due to his own bad decisions and inability to communicate. Crowley put his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He'd had something nice, something that felt good, that was easy, that was fun, and now it was gone. Crowley would be going back to the way things had always been, but with the knowledge of what he would be missing. He heard the sound of the shower shutting off and did his best to pull himself together before Bob emerged.

“Nice shower you got there,” Bob said. “Quite posh, as you all say here.”

“I'd like to see you again before you go,” Crowley said softly. “Just give me a few days.”

Bob sat down on the sofa; he smelled like a mix of himself and the fancy shower products Donna had purchased for Crowley a while back. “I understand. I just want to make sure you know that I meant it.”

“Meant what?”

“I want to be a part of your life, AJ.” Bob took Crowley's hand. “I mean it.”

“I want that,” Crowley said.

“Good. I'm going to hold you to it.” Bob kissed Crowley's cheek, and Crowley tried hard not to think about how that was likely the last time it would happen. Crowley followed Bob to the door and slowly closed it behind him. He took a deep breath and headed to the plant room.

“Right,” Crowley said aloud. “I'm a demon. I'm immortal. Been here for a few thousand years,” he said, aggressively spraying a stream of water onto the base of a large Oncidium orchid. “I'm gonna be fine.” His voice wavered, and he tried again. “It's fine. I'll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

Christmas Eve 1976  
The Bookshop

“Aziraphale!” Crowley slung open the door to the bookshop and yelled out. “We need to talk.”

Aziraphale stood up from the desk and headed towards the door. He hadn't expected to see Crowley for at least a week, perhaps ten days. “Crowley, dear, you look awful. Are you all right? I didn't think I'd see you-”

“You didn't think you'd see me? Oh, right. You didn't think you'd see me because I'd be with Bob until he went back to America. Well, last night he broke it off with me.”

To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale looked horrified and genuinely sad. “I'm so sorry,” the angel said quietly.

“Don't give me that look. This is what you wanted, isn't it?” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale felt an emotion he hadn't felt in a very, very long time: righteous anger. “This is not what I wanted, actually, if you must know, Crowley,” he said indignantly.

“Well I 'must know,'” Crowley said in a mocking voice, something he only did when he was very upset.

“What I want is for you to be happy.” Aziraphale hadn't been this honest in a while. It felt light; it felt freeing. Sure, it hurt to see Crowley with someone else. But if seeing Bob a few times a year would make Crowley happy, he was the one who'd have to find a way to deal with it.

“But you're not really okay with it. You don't want to share me. Just admit it.” Crowley was starting to hiss his 's' sounds a bit; he heard himself doing it but was too emotional to get it under control.

Aziraphale adjusted his bowtie and took a moment to center himself. He saw no reason to lie to Crowley at this point. If he were dishonest now, it would likely come back to bite him later on. “All right,” he said in a measured tone. “I will admit that it was not my preferred, or ideal situation. But!” he stuck his finger in the air. “But I was – I _am_ – I am willing to go along with this if it is what you want. And it seems to be what you want.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “You're not lying.”

“Of course I'm not lying, Crowley. I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. If this is what you want-”

“It was, Aziraphale. It was something I wanted. It wasn't even that often. We saw each other three times this whole year. And now, I don't...” Crowley was pacing the floor in increasingly large concentric circles. “Stupid, stupid mistake,” he muttered. “What a stupid mistake.”

“What was a mistake?” Aziraphale asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“All of it. All of this. Getting... close. I got too close,” Crowley said. He was running his hands through his long hair now. “Stupid. Absolutely ridiculous. I'm a demon, for Hell's sake.”

“Crowley, you didn't do anything wrong, you were-”

“All of it,” Crowley said, gesturing back and forth between them, “Including this. It's all a mistake. I'm going home.”

“Crowley-”

“DON'T,” Crowley yelled. He removed his sunglasses, took a deep breath, and balled his hands up into fists. “I don't mean...” Aziraphale remained absolutely still, except for his eyes, which were roaming every part of Crowley's face, searching for any clue that would help explain exactly what he was feeling. “I don't mean that being your friend is a mistake, Aziraphale,” he finally said.

“I'm quite glad to hear that.” Aziraphale stepped a bit closer to Crowley. He was starting to feel afraid of what would come next.

“It's just. Everything else. I can't do it,” Crowley's voice broke; he looked physically ill.

“Crowley, don't you want to talk about-”

“No. It's too much. I'm going home,” Crowley said. “I'll see you. Well, I'll see you, Angel.” He trailed off as he strode out the door. Aziraphale stared blankly into space for a good twenty minutes before he could collect himself enough to walk back to his desk. What the hell just happened?

“Well, now I've _really_ gone and fucked this all up, haven't I?” Aziraphale said to the African violet he'd gotten Crowley for Christmas. A ruffled purple blossom quivered and fell off the plant. “Oh, dear, I don't mean that you're to blame, it's me. It's my fault. Please don't feel badly about it all. I just can't take it today.” Aziraphale stared at the plump leaves covered in tiny hairs for an hour. It turned out the plant needed a pep talk, and it so happened it helped the angel forget his own problems for an evening.

* * *

 

Thursday 30 December 1976  
Radio Invicta  
Undisclosed location, London

Crowley's weekly set wasn't going so well; he'd played an hour of sad, slow songs before the calls started to trickle in asking for something more upbeat. Roger had taken over an hour of DJing while trying to talk to Crowley, who (unconvincingly) reassured him that he was fine, he would be fine, he was just having a rough day. Roger finally retreated back to his room once Crowley assembled a stack of varied records to spin for the rest of his set.

He hadn't spoken on the air all night, and it was probably time. Crowley took a breath and pulled the microphone over. “Right. Good evening, London. This is AJ Crowley, and you're listening to Radio Invicta.” Crowley's voice was rougher than normal, there were bags under his eyes, and for the past week, he'd felt like he was wading through molasses. The silence stretched on for much longer than it should as Crowley thought of something, anything to say. Ultimately, he couldn't, so he settled for saying the artist's name. “Yeah. This is Roberta Flack,” he said flatly as he put the needle down. A mournful introduction of soft 'oohs,' woodwinds, and a somber snare roll sounded over the airwaves.

 _I wanted it too_  
_Just like you_  
_I was hungry, hungry and blue_  
_You had just the right style_  
_In your smile_  
_Life was really sweet for a while_

 _I wanted it too_  
_Just like you_  
_You were so good, so good and true_  
_I can still feel your love_  
_in my heart_  
_Just the way it was from the start_

Crowley walked to the window and stared out over the lights of London. Nothing made sense anymore. For fuck's sake. He could barely think. There was no way he could finish out tonight's set by himself. Not without embarrassing himself and possibly, the station, further.

 _Life comes only one time_  
_You must take what you can_  
_We both reached out for it_  
_But it slipped through our hands_

“Roger?” Crowley called down the hallway.

He heard the sound of a door opening. “Yeah, mate?” Crowley couldn't bring himself to ask for the help he so desperately needed.

 _You showed me the good life_  
_It was real, it was fun_  
_But, now that's it's over_  
_I'm not sad, cause we won_

Roger trudged down the hallway. “AJ? AJ? Are you all right?” He rushed to Crowley's side.

“Not really,” Crowley said after a long pause, tilting his head downwards. “Can you take over the rest of the night?”

“Sure thing,” Roger said, patting Crowley gently on the arm.

 _Everything has its time, that's for sure_  
_There was no one like you before_  
_And I wanted it, wanted it, wanted it too, ooh-ooh-ooh_

He dug around the shelves for a minute until he found an album he knew Crowley loved. Roger stepped over to the microphone, only to see that Crowley had left it live, and had therefore been broadcasting their conversation to whomever was listening at this hour. He quickly shut it off and moved the microphone to the other edge of the table. Once the song began to fade out, Roger prepared the next record and decided to offer the listeners a brief explanation. He cleared his throat and went live again. “Hello, and good evening everyone. Roger here, turns out AJ's uh, he's not feeling so good this evening, so I'm gonna take over. You're listening to Radio Invicta, and this is The Ebonys.”

 _Do you like the way I love you_  
_Do you like the way I love you?_  
_Do you really like my style_  
_(Baby, baby, baby)_  
_Do you like the way I love you, baby_  
_Ha ha, yeah_  
_Are you really satisfied?_  
_Are you satisfied, baby?_  
_Aw, yeah, are you really satisfied?_

“AJ, why don't you just stay here tonight, mate? It's no problem, really.” Roger's face was etched with concern. Crowley nodded, and Roger set out to make them some tea.

Crowley drank a few sips of tea, then sunk to his knees and laid face down on the floor.

“All right, uh, well, that's not exactly what I meant when I said you could sleep here,” Roger said, tossing a hand-knit quilt over Crowley's lower half, “but I'm gonna trust you know what you're doing, all right? So. Uhh. Let me know if you need anything?”

Crowley groaned into the carpet, and Roger continued playing music long past the 12am cutoff time, stopping only when he saw Crowley completely asleep.

 

* * *

 

On the other side of town, Aziraphale was listening in. Heavens above, he felt guilty. The way he saw it, this was entirely his fault. He was the one who wasn't able to give Crowley what he needed. He couldn't make Crowley happy, hell, he couldn't even _satisfy_ Crowley physically, and so he'd gone off in search of someone else who could. Then he found it, (Crowley had even been _honest_ with Aziraphale about it when asked), and now? Aziraphale was the one who'd taken it from him. Crowley was so hurt, he didn't even want to try working on things with him. This was bad, and Aziraphale knew it had the potential to get worse.

He sighed. Aside from a serious miracle, there was only one thing to do now. Aziraphale dug the scribbled piece of paper that Donna had given him out of his pocket. He dialed the number and asked for room 326.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Donna?”

“Yes?”

“It's Ezra. Um, you know, AJ's partner.”

Donna laughed, but there was no malice in it. “I know who you are. Best cocktail waitress I've met in London." Aziraphale chuckled. "What's up?” she asked.

“Oh, of course.” Aziraphale wiped his sweaty palms off on the upholstery of the chair instead of on his favorite taupe trousers. “I was wondering if you would – ah - wondering if I could take you out for lunch while you're still in town?”

“Of course you can,” Donna said. “How does tomorrow sound?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Aziraphale said immediately. “How about I meet you at the hotel at noon? There's a lovely little French place just a few blocks away from-”

“All righty,” Donna practically sang the words to him. “ Sounds good. I'll see you then.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Aziraphale said.

Oh, thank Heavens. Aziraphale stood up from his desk and shook his fingers out for a few moments. He knew just what he would wear tomorrow: he'd look sharp, he'd pay for lunch, and he'd be on his best, most angelic behavior. And hopefully Donna would be able to help him make this right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a music-light chapter but the Roberta Flack song is VERY important. Enjoy <3


	30. But I'd Like To Get To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Donna have their first one on one sit down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for following along and leaving such wonderful and lovely comments. Hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

Friday 31 December 1976

Aziraphale stumbled out of the house with barely enough time to make it over to Donna's hotel. He'd been irritable, distracted, and upset since his last conversation with Crowley, and it was catching up to him. They met in the lobby and walked over to the restaurant while making small talk. Once inside, Aziraphale helped Donna out of her coat and hung it up for her.

“Sweet of you to take me out on New Year's Eve,” Donna said as she sat down at the table.

Aziraphale blinked rapidly. “Goodness, I hadn't even realized that was today's date,” he tittered.

Donna hummed and shrugged. “Better today than tomorrow, I'll probably be too hungover to go outside. So, how are you?”

“Well, I – I'm all right,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I'm just terribly worried about AJ,” he continued after a beat. He met Donna's eyes and tried to decipher the expression on her face. She wouldn't have joined him for lunch if she didn't like him enough to be there, right? Aziraphale's train of thought was interrupted by the waiter, who sensed the urgency in Aziraphale's voice when he asked for a bottle of wine.

“Hmm, yeah. He's having a hard time of it,” Donna said when they were alone.

Aziraphale watched as she reached for her wine. Goodness, she was graceful. Aziraphale felt like a proper mess; he was anxiously wiggling his ankle underneath the table and he suspected he was about to break into a sweat around his hairline. “Have you – well, I guess you must have spoken with him since, uh, you know.” he said, his voice a bit thinner than normal.

“Um...” she trailed off and looked at Aziraphale, who was nervously gripping his cloth napkin as though he were attempting to strangle it to death, “this may be a bit out of line -”

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Clearly, you two are very good friends.”

Donna placed her hand on her face, her index and middle finger forming a frame for her lovely features. “It seems like you both are,” she stopped and turned her lovely, sparkling brown eyes on Aziraphale. “Do you two _talk_ to each other? Cause if I didn't know better I'd say... well. I'm gonna stop there.” She let out a small awkward laugh and waited for Aziraphale to respond.

The angel cleared his throat. The room felt too small; the table was too close. “I think, ah,” Aziraphale didn't even realize he was drumming his fingers against his plate until his pinky ring caught the side of it and let out a _clang_ loud enough for the whole room to hear. “That's. I think the past... few years have been a bit, hmm, been a bit difficult for us. Yes.”

“Oh, _honey_ ,” Donna said, in a tone he hadn't heard often outside of a gay establishment. She lifted her glass of wine and finished the remainder of it in a single effortless swig. “You need to talk to him.”

“He said he didn't want to talk to me.” Aziraphale tried to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Have you tried to call him?”

Aziraphale set down his fork. “No, he said he didn't want to talk about it.”

“Well, right now, he doesn't. He'll want to talk to you at some point.” Aziraphale took a few bites of roasted potatoes; this was one of his favorite restaurants, but he hadn't been particularly hungry for the past few days. Donna continued. “I like Bob a lot, I think he's a great guy, but it's hard to keep something going with that much distance. Work, all that. And of course the fact that he has a partner, I knew AJ really enjoyed himself, but I also wasn't convinced-” she paused, reaching for the words.

“Convinced of?”

Donna shrugged and furrowed her brow. “I wasn't convinced that was all he really wanted. Don't get me wrong, they talked all the time,” she said as she stuffed a forkful of arugula into her mouth.

“They did?” Aziraphale didn’t know much about Crowley and Bob’s relationship, and he chided himself for never asking Crowley about it.

“Oh, yeah. AJ told me they'd usually talk on the phone for hours. I think that was a big part of it for him. I get the sense he doesn't have many friends.” Donna caught the look on Aziraphale's face and quickly amended her statement. “Aside from you, I mean. He has you, but...”

“But?”

Donna made a confused face. “But... it's important to have other friends besides your partner?”

Aziraphale nodded. He really hadn't thought much about it until now; he wasn't exactly on the best terms with anyone in Heaven. He certainly wouldn't call any of his fellow angels 'friends.' “Yes.”

“You don't sound so sure about that. I mean, you have other friends, right?”

“Psssh, yes, of course,” Aziraphale sputtered, not bringing up the fact that he'd met these friends a few short months ago at a bar.

“Okay, right.” Donna seemed relieved. “So you understand. I think that's what hurt AJ the most. Bob was, you know, he was a really good friend to him. It wasn't just about the-” she caught the look in Aziraphale's eyes and immediately stopped herself from continuing the thought. Donna sipped her wine.

Aziraphale looked at Donna and nodded. He was trying not to read too much into the implication of that statement, which was that, perhaps, he hadn't been the best friend to Crowley. And he certainly didn't want to think about someone else touching Crowley. “Yes,” he finally said.

Donna looked at Aziraphale's untouched plate. “Are you all right? You've barely touched your food.”

“I'm – it's. Yes.” Aziraphale said unconvincingly.

“Listen,” Donna said, holding a hand up. “I’ve never been great at keeping secrets or, playing run around, all that. You understand?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Yes.”

“So I’m just gonna tell you pretty much what I told AJ six months ago. That way there’s no, you know,” Donna waved her hand around gracefully and brushed her poofy bangs out of her eyes, “no behind the back stuff, none of that. Okay?”

“That seems quite fair,” Aziraphale said.

“Well, let me set it up. When I first met AJ, he was a lot more, reserved. And it took me a long time to get him to open up, even to me.” Donna paused to take a sip of her wine. “I knew there was a sadness he was carrying around with him. I could tell.”

Aziraphale thought of the night that had set all of this in motion, that night in Soho he’d given Crowley the means for his own destruction. Had he taken a bit more time before he’d spoken, had he tried to explain the situation more clearly, he might have been able to avoid at least some of this pain, for Crowley, and for himself.

“Ezra?” Donna asked.

“Yes, yes. Sorry. He’s never been much of a talker,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Donna nodded, then continued. “When he started talking about you, with me, it always seemed like he wanted more. And then you didn’t show for the party that time,” Donna said.

“No, I didn’t. It’s a long story, but I-”

“You didn't. Just stop there.” Aziraphale looked up to meet Donna's eyes. Her eyebrows were slightly raised and she leaned back. “You didn't show up for him, and he was really hurt, Ezra.” Aziraphale nodded; the stifling pressure in the room was back. Donna finished her glass of wine and poured another as she continued. “So as I said to AJ, it seemed to me like he wanted something from you that you weren't honestly prepared to give him.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked.

Donna wasn't prepared for such a hopeful response from Aziraphale; she decided to play her cards close to the vest. “Yes, really.” She kept her face as neutral as she could. Aziraphale looked like he'd been told a really juicy secret; there was a tiny smile on his face and his eyes were gleaming. The angel tilted his head downwards and raised an eyebrow, waiting for Donna to continue. “So I told him something my mama told me a long time ago.” Donna placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands.

“And what was that?”

“If you don't ask for what you want, you'll never get it.”

Aziraphale set down his fork. “And what did he say?”

Donna smiled broadly and little crinkles formed at the corners of her eyes. “You-” she said, pointing to Aziraphale with her fork, “are going to have to talk to _him_ in order to find that out.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said. “I'm – I can do that.” He nodded, more to himself than anything. “That's how it goes, isn't it? I'll talk to him and I'll – I'll talk to him,” he said resolutely.

“Thank _god_ ,” Donna said as she rolled her eyes. “Y'all are gonna be the death of me,” is what Aziraphale thought he heard her mutter into a half-full glass of wine.

 

* * *

 

Later in the evening  
Mayfair

A few days ago, Crowley had agreed to meet Donna at her hotel around 10pm; their original plan was to head out for New Year's Eve, but since they spoke, Donna had decided it might be better for them to stay in. She called at 10:45, then at 11, and at 11:15pm, she got dressed and headed out to Mayfair. Donna knocked on the door of Crowley's flat, paused to wait for an answer, knocked again, and then finally dug the extra key out of her purse. She opened up the door and made a lot of noise as she entered Crowley's flat.

“AJ? You in here?” she called out. Donna heard a grunting sound and looked to see Crowley lifting his head up from where he was laying on the floor. “My god, AJ, what – what are you doing?”

“Mmmmmmrrrph,” Crowley muttered.

“Get up, dammit!” Donna pulled him up so he was sitting with his back against the sofa. “I know you're hurting right now, but you can't just lay there on the floor forever. Plus, you stood me up.” Crowley shot Donna a glare, but complied, slinking up onto the sofa.

“How'd you get in?”

Donna held up the spare key Crowley had given her sometime last year.

“Ahh, yeah. Forgot about that,” Crowley muttered.

Donna patted Crowley on the arm. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Crowley said quietly. Donna poked Crowley in the cheek. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Are you drunk?” she asked.

“No.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“Not hungry.”

Donna sighed. “Why am I not surprised? I don't think I've seen you eat more than a few bites of anything the whole time I've known you.”

Crowley's flat was pretty well soundproofed, but the sounds of cheering and revelry began to echo around the building. “What the hell's all that racket?” Donna looked up at the clock; it was just past midnight.

“Happy New Year,” she said to Crowley as she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“It's New Years? Already?” Crowley asked.

“Yep. Looks like you're stuck here with me. Can't cancel on me that easily.”

“Happy New Year,” Crowley said as he leaned over and laid his head in Donna's lap.

“Hang on just a moment,” Donna said. She grabbed a pillow from the corner of the sofa and put it underneath Crowley's head. “That better?”

Crowley nodded, and fell asleep within minutes.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday, 5 January 1977  
The Bookshop  
Soho

 

Aziraphale didn't realize the 5th of January was a Tuesday when he'd sent out his invitation to Gabriel, and he had spent the last four days in an absolute panic at the thought of double booking his 'yearly review' on the same day as the Gay Men's Book Club. He decided on a last-minute intervention if needed; he would transform himself into a ball of blinding light, cast out the book club, and make sure no one remembered any of it. He started stress-cleaning the bookshop in the late hours of the night on Sunday and was halfway through reindexing the lower east wing of the shop when he was nearly startled off his ladder by a familiar voice saying his name in a familiar way.

“A _zir_ aphale.” The angel quickly stepped off the ladder and repositioned his vest.

“Gabriel. Good to see you.” Aziraphale smiled primly; a fake smile specifically reserved for work occasions.

“It is good, isn't it? Do you mind if I sit down?” he said, gesturing to the sofa.

“Please.”

Gabriel sat down on the sofa and crossed his legs. “Well?” he said as he interlaced his fingers and hooked his hands over his knee.

“Ahh, well, I think it's been a good year. All things considered,” Aziraphale said cautiously. Gabriel didn't respond right away; he just kept staring at Aziraphale with a blank expression on his face. “I have been, um, working my way through the, you know, the assignments,” Aziraphale continued. “Oh, I wanted to add that I do appreciate the new system implemented this year. Or was it last year? I think it was this year.”

“The new system?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, it started, oh – I don't know – it's been a recent change.” Gabriel held his hands out; the 'well?' was implied. “Previously, assignments used to come through with different classifications,” Aziraphale said.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Gabriel said. Aziraphale forced his mouth into a placid smile, then stood up and went to his desk. After a minute of rustling papers around, he found the new version of the form, then walked back. “Why did you walk to your desk?” Gabriel asked with a look of disdain. “You know you can just call it up. We are angels, we have powers for a reason.” He laughed, mostly to himself.

Aziraphale blinked his eyes slowly to give himself a moment to cool down. He held out the form to Gabriel. “I believe this is the sixth version,” he said, pointing to the right hand side of the paper. “The classifications used to be a bit unclear; now there are separate boxes for major, minor, urgent, routine, optional.”

Gabriel stared at Aziraphale in silence for a while before continuing. Why the devil was he always so annoying? “Right. Not my department, but I'll pass that along to the Assigning. There was one specific day I'd like to ask you about. I believe it was sometime in June? Does that ring a bell?”

Aziraphale felt his corporeal heart start to speed up and willed a serene expression onto his face. “I'm not sure I remember that particular day offhand.”

Gabriel produced a clipboard from out of thin air and flipped through a few pages. “Saturday, June 25th? I have records here that indicate this was a particularly busy day for you. Several – hmm, it looks like it was several _dozen_ – miracles, worked within a short period of time.” He looked up, his cold, dull violet eyes locking onto Aziraphale's.

That was the day Aziraphale had wandered through the streets of Soho and given a miracle to anyone in the immediate vicinity who'd even thought about it in the past decade. “Ahh, yes. I may have gotten a little carried away that day.”

“Any... particular reason you were getting 'carried away'?” Gabriel used his hands to make air quotes around the phrase as he repeated it back, and Aziraphale fought back the urge to punch his immediate supervisor in the face.

Aziraphale began twisting his thumbs around one another. “No, not that I can think of, no particular reason. I believe it was just – well, it was a summer day, you know, and I think it was one of those lovely summer days in which – how can I describe it – the _love_ of the Almighty seems to shine down upon this Earth, and the blessings, it was as if the blessings themselves had wings!” He offered up the holiest smile he could and laughed, a high-pitched angelic sound that mimicked the peal of bells.

Once again, Gabriel sat. And stared. And said nothing. Just as Aziraphale was about to continue lying his ass off, Gabriel stood up. “Okay then. We have a specific situation we might want you to look into this year, but I'm still waiting on final approval.” Gabriel smiled and tilted his head in that annoying way he always did.

“Right, well. I will await further instructions, in that case.”

“Sounds great! Just keep up doing that Good Work.” Gabriel clapped him on the back a bit too hard, as he often did, and strode out the front door.

Aziraphale let out a breath he'd been holding for the entire meeting and stretched his neck back and forth. Well, that hadn't gone nearly as badly as he'd expected.

“Just another bloody ridiculous meeting,” he muttered under his breath as he put away the ladder. The shop had been clean for days. Aziraphale decided to walk over to William's flower shop and see if he wanted to go to lunch. He always needed a palate cleanser after seeing anyone from Heaven...

* * *

 

After the Gay Men's Book Club, and after his friends eventually went home, Aziraphale decided it was time to call Crowley. Again. He wasn't going to try to start a conversation this serious over the phone, but he did need to know Crowley was at least still alive. He'd called twice a day for the past four days, and twice already today. Perhaps Crowley would answer this time.

“Yeah.” Crowley's voice sounded like it had been dragged down the street.

“Crowley? It's me,” Aziraphale said. “I was just calling to check on-”

“I'm fine,” Crowley said flatly.

“All right,” Aziraphale said. There was a very long pause in which Aziraphale heard the sound of something crashing and breaking. “Crowley, what was that? Are you all right?”

“Listen, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk right now. I'm, uh, I'm sort of busy.” Crowley was currently laying face down on the floor next to the remnants of a ceramic bowl a client had given him.

“Okay, well. I won't keep you then,” Aziraphale said. “I'll – I'll try you in a few days.”

“All right.” Crowley didn't even bother to hang the phone up until the next morning. Aziraphale set the phone down on the receiver and stared at it for an hour before sitting down to work through a small stack of routine miracles.

* * *

 

Friday, 8 January 1977  
Soho  
  
Aziraphale had gone on a brief walk to distract himself from the fact that he'd been calling Crowley all day, and he hadn't answered. It was chilly, but he was wearing one of his favorite coats; a crème colored wool number that hit just below his knees. He meandered through Soho for about a half hour and was on his way back to the bookshop when he passed a record shop and decided to go in. He smiled at the clerk and began flipping through albums. Maybe it would be a good idea to buy Crowley a few records; that way he'd have a reason to call and ask about it, maybe a reason to go over to Crowley's flat to deliver the goods. Not a bad plan. Aziraphale turned around to look at the shelves behind him and nearly ran into the clerk, who had snuck up on him.

“Goodness, I'm sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I didn't see you there.”

“It's all right. Anything I can help you find? I've got a lot of stuff in here,” the clerk said kindly.

“I'm shopping for someone. A friend,” Aziraphale added.

“All right. Do you know what kind of music your friend likes?”

Aziraphale removed his scarf. “Well, I know he's fond of, I believe he called it Philadelphia soul. And he enjoys a band called Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes. I know he likes lots of American music,” he said.

“Ahh, okay. Good,” the clerk said as he fished a single out from a box and handed it to Aziraphale. “Maybe your friend would like this.”

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked as he tried to read the label.

“It's a Tammi Terrell single. You know her?”

Aziraphale flipped the record over. “No, I can't say I'm familiar.”

“Do you have a few minutes? To listen to some songs?”

“I...” Aziraphale was about to make up an excuse to leave, and then he realized he'd never done this; had never sat down and let anyone recommend music for him to purchase. It was cold out; he didn't have anything to do other than sit in the bookshop, maybe call a friend. “Yes. I have all the time in the world.” Aziraphale said. The clerk's expression instantly brightened. He led Aziraphale to a turntable in the back with headphones attached and spent the next two hours bringing the angel record after record. Aziraphale left with three records and a promise to return to the shop soon. After an agonizing process of trying to select which record to give Crowley first, Aziraphale decided to start with the album he knew best. He put the record on, just to make sure everything was in order.

Aziraphale had heard this song before, about a decade ago. It had followed him around for a few years, back around the end of the 1960's. He hadn't been as into music then and hadn't thought about purchasing anything to listen to at home. He listened to the soft piano intro pour into the bookshop. Aziraphale let the song play out; it was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Once he was ready, he used a small bit of magic to send the record over to Crowley's flat, visualizing the record leaning perfectly against Crowley's door.

He wanted to know when Crowley listened to it. _If_ Crowley listened to it, Aziraphale corrected himself. There was really no guarantee Crowley would listen to these small, insignificant gifts Aziraphale was leaving for him. But if he did, Aziraphale wanted to know about it. He just didn't know exactly how to make it happen, especially since Crowley was dodging his calls It happened one afternoon when Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa, poring through liner notes on another album he'd purchased for Crowley.

“I'd just like to know if he actually listens to any of these,” he'd said offhandedly. Aziraphale noticed it when he stood up to put an album on the turntable. Next to his existing turntable was a small, square, glossy, black box about the size of a paperback. Aziraphale noticed there was a small clasp on the front. He tried to pick the box up, but it didn't budge. He undid the clasp and opened the lid to reveal what appeared to be a tiny turntable, complete with volume knobs and an arm in the shape of a snake. The needle was placed in one corner of the snake's mouth so as to resemble a fang. Aziraphale looked around and then back at the turntable. “All right,” he finally said aloud.

For two weeks, Aziraphale waited. Not a single sound from the tiny black turntable. He examined it a few times and even looked for an on/off switch, but there was none to be found. Sixteen days and seven hours after he'd given Crowley the first record, Aziraphale was sitting at his desk restoring the binding of a 16th century book when the turntable finally came to life. With a soft click, the snake-shaped arm released from the side, and the needle laid down just as it would on any other turntable. Aziraphale stood to see what the needle was scratching against; it appeared to be a blank record surface. He instantly recognized the soft piano intro, and he took this as a sign that Crowley was finally listening to the record he'd purchased for him.

 _But I'd like to get to know you (yes I would)_  
_But I'd like to get to know you (if I could)_

Aziraphale sang the words he knew as he carefully applied glue to the spine of the book.

 _Well, I can't promise that I'll spend a day with you_  
_I can't promise that I'll find a way with you_  
_I can't promise, no, I can't promise that I'll love you_  
_But I'd like to get to know you (yes, I would)_

This part had always been his favorite; he'd found it poignant and beautiful. He imagined Crowley listening to this moment, at this moment, in his flat. It felt like he'd fully stepped into a world that was built for the two of them, together. Aziraphale hummed along happily until the song ended. How interesting. Using magic wasn't always as straightforward as he thought; there were often little surprises along the way. Crowley had once said that “miracles had a mind of their own.”

The piano intro started again. Aziraphale cocked his head. Apparently Crowley was listening to the song a second time. The angel felt a warmth in his chest. This was a good sign, right? Crowley listening to the record he'd gotten for him twice in a row? He hummed parts of the melody to himself, imagining Crowley in his stylish flat doing the same thing.

When the song started over for the third time, Aziraphale was touched, but a bit overwhelmed. He walked to the far corner of the bookshop to grab a bottle of wine from his stash and took his time; when he arrived back to the sofa, the song was still playing. And then it started over again. And then again. Aziraphale lost count around the twentieth time he'd heard the (still beautiful) intro. Ten repetitions of the song later, his warm and fuzzy feelings had turned into concern and worry. Why was Crowley listening to the song over, and over, and over again? Aziraphale barely knew how to operate his turntable, but he had seen it get stuck occasionally. He felt a pang of panic. What if something had happened to Crowley when he was listening to this song? The angel knocked over his glass of wine on his way to the phone.

“Oh, what a _mess_ ,” Aziraphale said to himself as he picked up the phone. He'd miracle the wine away once he got a hold of Crowley.

 

* * *

 

Crowley took the needle back and started “Like To Get To Know You” for the forty-seventh – no, forty-eighth – time that evening. The song was beautiful; Crowley had loved it from the first time he'd heard it. He wondered if there was any way Aziraphale could have known that he'd destroyed his first two copies of this album from overuse. Working in music meant Crowley was now receiving more records than he knew what to do with; every now and again he would come across something that he used to enjoy listening to but had forgotten. This was such a nice surprise. Crowley's music collection started growing in earnest after the holy water incident; he'd preferred louder songs for daytime and softer songs for the long, long nights. The song was just about to his favorite part when the phone rang.

He'd been avoiding answering the phone for a few months; work calls were coming through to the office, so he wasn't getting that many calls at home. Sometimes Donna would call, and he'd talked to Bob only once since the split; the phone had been a lot quieter for the past few weeks. Crowley glanced at the clock; it was just after 3am, so he had a pretty good idea who was calling.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Crowley, it's me.”

“Ah, hello Aziraphale.” Crowley knew the angel didn't sleep but, still, it was 3 in the fucking morning. “Is... everything all right? You all right?”

“Well, I was just calling to ask if you were all right, actually,” Aziraphale said. Oh shit. How was he going to explain this one?

“Mmm, yeah, I guess I'm all right.” Crowley, who had just listened to the same song forty-seven times in a row, was not all right.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Good, that's. That's good, I'm glad to hear it.”

“I uh, I got the record you sent. Thanks,” Crowley said.

“Oh?” Aziraphale tried his hardest to go for casual and nailed it, for once. “Seemed like something you might like.”

Crowley laughed, a warm, low, liquid sound that filled Aziraphale with longing. “You couldn't have known this, but it's actually one of my favorite records.”

“Really?” Aziraphale threaded the phone cord in between his fingers.

“Yeah, Angel. I got it right when it came out. Was hard to find here, the band was from – I know they were from the States but maybe New York or something, small town – and I stopped in the record store a few times to get my hands on it...”

Aziraphale leaned back into his chair with a smile on his face, and listened to Crowley talk about the album, and so much else, until the sun came up.

 

* * *

 

Monday, 7 February 1977  
The Bookshop  
Soho

The magical record player began broadcasting a new tune on an otherwise uneventful Monday afternoon. Aziraphale was attempting to shoo away a customer as politely as possible when he heard a gentle vibraphone solo stream through the entire shop at a surprisingly loud volume.

 _The more I see you, the more I want you_  
_Somehow this feeling just grows and grows_

Aziraphale really loved this record; in fact, he'd had a bit of a hard time giving it to Crowley. All he wanted right now was to listen to the music in private, but the man in front of him who had been attempting to buy a book for the past hour was not taking the (human and supernatural) hints.

“If you'll kindly excuse me, I've got to go take care of this,” Aziraphale said.

“Hey, this music. It's nice. Who is it?” the man asked.

 _With every sigh, I become more mad about you_  
_More lost without you, and so it goes_

“Sir,” Aziraphale reached across the counter and placed his hand on the book, “if you'll leave me your number, I will happily hold this for you and you can come back to purchase it at another time.”

“I don't want you to hold it for me, I want to buy the bloody thing!” the man said as he yanked the book back.

 _Can you imagine, how much I love you?_  
_The more I see you, as years go by_

“I'm not selling you that book, sir!” Aziraphale grabbed the book with a bit more force than was necessary, and the man nearly fell backwards while trying to wrestle it away from the angel.

“What the hell kind of bookshop is this? What do you think you're doing?”

 _I know the only one for me can only be you_  
_My arms won't free you, and my heart won't try_

“It's my bookshop, and I have the right to operate this establishment as I see fit! Good day to you!” Aziraphale shouted.

“This is hardly a way to run a business!” the man yelled angrily over his shoulder as he stomped out. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers to lock up. He had just made himself a cup of cocoa when the music stopped after a lovely rendition of “The Shadow of Your Smile.” Aziraphale eyed the phone. He knew Crowley was at home. If he was going to try calling him today, now was the time.

Over in his flat, Crowley had his hand on the phone, trying to decide whether or not to call Aziraphale. He hadn't seen the angel in a month; that had been his choice, but he couldn't tell if the time apart had been good, bad, or indifferent. He sighed and sat down. No sense in continuing to drag this out. Things hadn't gone down between them the way he would have liked, it was true, but Aziraphale was his oldest friend and the only occult being Crowley wanted to spend eternity with. Better to smooth things over sooner rather than later. Nothing a few nights at the bookshop and several fancy bottles of wine wouldn't fix.

“Fuck it,” Crowley said as he picked up the phone. There was no dial tone.

“Hello?” Aziraphale's voice startled him.

“Hello? Aziraphale?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“Yes, it's me.”

“I was just about to call you.”

“Oh. Well, I called and it didn't – I don't think I heard it ring. Wasn't sure if I got through,” Aziraphale said.

“Looks like you got through, Angel.” Crowley smiled. “Got the record you left me.”

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said, as though he hadn't just been listening to it note for note along with Crowley.

“It's nice. Not something I would have picked out for myself, but I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, it's nice. What are you doing next Friday?”

Aziraphale forced himself to pause so he wouldn't seem too eager. “I don't believe I have anything planned.”

“I'm gonna do a night with some friends in Brixton, if you'd – if you might want to come along.”

“A night?”

“Yeah, you know, spin some records.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale's joy bubbled through the telephone line, and Crowley smiled. “That would be lovely, Crowley. I'd enjoy that quite a lot.”

“Right, well.” Crowley hadn't seen Aziraphale in over a month; the thought of being in the same room with the angel made his stomach turn in all sorts of unexpected ways. “Great. I'll see you then.”

“Lovely.”

Crowley hung up the phone quickly and kicked his feet up on his desk. How quickly his old feelings returned; his thoughts about Aziraphale were more intense now that he didn't have anyone else in his life on which to pour out at least some of his affection. What a cruel irony, Crowley thought. Bob had called him twice since the split; he should really get around to returning those calls, but today wasn't the day. Crowley got up and put on a Sarah Vaughan record, then returned to his previously planned activity: lying face down on the floor. He let his cheek sink down against the cold concrete and groaned.

 _Shake down the stars, pull down the clouds_  
_Turn off the moon, do it soon_  
_I can't enjoy this night without you_  
_Shake down the stars_

 _Dry up the streams, stop all my dream_  
_Cut off the breeze, do it please_  
_I never thought I'd cry about you_  
_Shake down the stars_

An unfamiliar tune began to flow into the bookshop, softly at first, then gradually increasing to the volume Aziraphale normally preferred his music. He looked over to see the tiny black record player spinning. “This isn't one of mine,” he said aloud. Interesting. Miracles had a mind of their own, it seemed.

 _I gave you my arms, my lips, my heart,_  
_My life, my love, my all,_  
_But the best that I had to offer you_  
_I found was all too small._

 _Crush every rose, hush every prayer_  
_Break every vow, do it now_  
_I know I can't go on without you_  
_Shake down the stars_

 

* * *

 

Friday 18 February 1977  
Brixton

Jack met Roger and Crowley at Roger's flat, and the three of them piled into Jack's beat up Vauxhall Viva and headed over to Brixton. There were enough records in the car and the boot for Crowley and Jack to spin for a solid week. Crowley had mentioned Aziraphale (his 'friend') would be joining them, but didn't mention much else about it. They had loaded in the third crate of records when Crowley realized there was a possibility either Jack or Roger would bring up the fact that he'd been DJing on a radio station for a few years now. He hadn't ever told Aziraphale because, well, his DJ sets were often an exact replica of his emotional state. Also, he had an extensive collection of records mentioning “heavenly love” or the word “angel” and, well...

“Ooh. Wait. Sorry, just one thing,” Crowley said.

Roger and Jack stopped and looked at Crowley. “Well, what is it, mate?” Roger asked.

“My uh, my friend we're meeting tonight knows, you know. He knows that I sometimes get out and spin records at parties and such. But he doesn't know, uh, that I'm on the radio. On Thursdays.”

“He doesn't?” Roger looked a bit sad. Oh, shit. Crowley wasn't trying to put down Radio Invicta; it was Roger's entire world.

“Oh it's not anything – sometimes I like to have a bit of privacy, is all. It's nice to be able to play what I want,” Crowley clarified. Roger seemed satisfied with this explanation.

“Ahh. I guess fame is catching up with you, eh?” Jack clapped Crowley on the back. “Don't worry mate. Your secret's safe with us.”

“Right.” Roger chuckled. “You're becoming a certified big deal, you are. Might have to give you a fake name on the station soon.” Roger and Jack headed in to set up the turntables, and Crowley waited outside for Aziraphale, who arrived a few minutes later, gliding up the sidewalk in a crème coat with a sequined ivory felt collar.

“Well, hello there,” Crowley said. “I guess I should have dressed up a bit.” Aziraphale smiled and tried to figure out what to do; should he hug Crowley? Place his hand in the crook of Crowley's arm? He was hoping he wouldn't have to do something as awkward as shaking hands when Crowley leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“It's a new coat,” was all Aziraphale could say as he followed Crowley into the club. It was quite dark, and on the small side; there were only a few tables and a small open space in the center of the room.

“I've got to get to it, but Jack and Roger are good folks, they'll take care of you.” He patted Aziraphale on the shoulder, then walked over to the 'DJ booth,' which was an old supply closet with the door ripped off. Aziraphale sat down at the table with Jack and Roger; there was already a glass of red wine sitting in front of him.

Roger gestured to the wine. “AJ said this is what you'd want.”

“Indeed, thank you. So, Roger, how do you know AJ?” Aziraphale asked. He noticed Jack elbow Roger, albeit discreetly, in the ribs.

“AJ and me, uh, well. I run a pirate radio station and I know him – we, uh – we're both into the same types of music. Met him through Jack here,” Roger said. Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley set the needle down and a straightforward beat with a simple guitar riff filled the room. The minute the song started, people flooded the center of the room and began to dance. Aziraphale didn't realize so many people could fit in such a small space. When the chorus hit, almost everyone on the dance floor sang along:

 _Poison ivy, poison ivy_  
_Late at night, while you're sleepin'_  
_Poison ivy comes a-creepin' around_

“He's good, yeah?” Roger leaned over. “He knows exactly what to play to get the room going.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, he absolutely is.”

“AJ, he's one of a kind. He took care of-” Jack remembered mid-sentence that he wasn't supposed to talk about Crowley's DJ night, “-a few things for me when my mum got sick.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my mum's in Manchester, she got real sick a while back and, well. It looked really bad for a bit there. But AJ took care of things for me when I had to go up north. And then, wouldn't you know it, she made a full recovery.” Jack drained the last of his pint, set the glass down, and laughed. “It was nothing short of a miracle, really. Can't help but think AJ had something to do with it.”

Aziraphale realized that this was the man for whom Crowley had attempted to perform a miracle; he remembered the pain on Crowley's face as he'd tried to move his badly burned feet during a lunch at the Ritz. “Yes, yes,” he said slowly as the understanding dawned on him. “AJ mentioned you and your mother to me. Several times, actually. I am so glad to hear she is doing better.”

Jack smiled at Aziraphale with a warmth he hadn't felt since the last time he'd worked hands-on miracles a couple of hundred years ago. “He talked about me? Ahh, that's, wow. You know, AJ, he's so cool. Sometimes I can't believe he's my friend.” Jack tossed back the last of his pint and stood up. “Next round's on me,” he said as he went up to the bar.

 

* * *

 

Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, Jack, and Roger. It didn't seem like the angel was having too bad of a time; he caught them all laughing and smiling, and by this point, he could tell if Aziraphale was completely faking it. He picked up the single Aziraphale had given him a few days ago. Crowley still wasn't entirely sure what was behind this new habit of Aziraphale's, but he'd been enjoying it. It had gotten to the point where if there wasn't a new record propped up against the door of his flat once a week, he felt a bit disappointed. Crowley knew playing this song was likely to kill the mood in the club, but he felt like putting it on anyways. It wasn't every day he got his hands on something like this. A woman's voice began ooh-ing softly over a mournful sounding intro, and Aziraphale recognized the song as the single he'd purchased for Crowley a few weeks ago.

“Ahh, what's this?” Roger said.

Jack tilted his head. “I don't know.”

“I'm gonna go ask him.” Roger got up and Jack followed him.

“Back in a moment,” Jack said, patting Aziraphale on the shoulder. They walked over to talk music with Crowley, and Aziraphale used the moment of solitude to miracle himself a proper glass of wine instead of whatever he was currently drinking. Jack apparently did mean a literal moment, as he was back at the table before Aziraphale was able to try his recreation of a 1965 Beaujolais.

“He says you got it for him, Ezra,” Jack said with a smile on his face. “You should have said something! Didn't know you had such good taste. Do you smoke?”

“Um, no. I don't,” Aziraphale said.

“Right. We're gonna head outside then.” Jack and Roger placed their pints on the table and headed out the door. Once they had gone, Aziraphale looked over at Crowley; the demon was deep in concentration and appeared to be staring straight down at the turntable. However, Aziraphale caught the almost imperceptible motion of his head turning a touch to the right once he noticed the angel's gaze. It was the sort of thing no one else in this universe or beyond would have had a chance of seeing. He felt flushed; he wished he and Crowley weren't in this room surrounded by all these people. Perhaps they could talk this evening. They should talk this evening.

 _Think of how exciting it would be_  
_if you should discover you felt like me,_  
_if you should discover this dream is for two_

Aziraphale had never heard songs the way he had been for the past two years or so. Before all of this, he would sit and let the music wash over him, overlooking lyrics if he had to. Now it was as if every song was impossible to ignore; every word seemed to sear into his soul.

 _I light a candle every day_  
_and pray that you always feel this way_  
_and pray that our love will forever be new_  
_Cause all I do is think about you, oh baby_

Just as Aziraphale stood and was about to walk over to Crowley, Jack and Roger came back inside, eager to talk. He sat down and did his best not to think about everything unsaid between himself and Crowley, trying to focus instead on connecting with two more of Crowley's friends.

* * *

 

An hour later, Crowley was done DJing, and he and Aziraphale were outside the club, loading up the records into Jack's car and saying their goodbyes.

“You sure you don't need a lift home?” Jack asked. “I think if everyone holds a crate on their lap we could make it work.”

Crowley laughed. “It's all right, mate. Just take the records back to Radio – back to Roger's flat,” Crowley quickly corrected.

“As you wish,” Jack said. “Ezra, pleasure to meet you.” He gave Aziraphale an awkward but sincere hug.

“Great to meet you.” Roger shook Aziraphale's hand and then pointed at Crowley. “And I'll see you in a few days, yeah?”

“Absolutely.” Jack and Roger drove off and Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Did you have an okay time, Angel?” he asked softly.

“It was lovely,” Aziraphale said. “We had quite a nice conversation.”

Crowley turned around and the Bentley pulled up to the curb. “Did you...?”Aziraphale peered in to see that no one was driving the car. His eyes went wide.

“Actually, I didn't drive. Had to ask her to come pick me up,” Crowley said as he opened the passenger door of the Bentley. Aziraphale stepped in cautiously; he wasn't aware the Bentley had gained sentience and the possibilities were a bit disquieting. The ride home was quiet but comfortable; Aziraphale didn't realize how much he'd missed driving around London (or anywhere, really) with Crowley. They pulled up to the shop and Crowley immediately exited the car to open up Aziraphale's door for him.

“Thanks for coming out tonight, Angel.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a hug, but he barely touched the angel; it was as if he was afraid to touch Aziraphale too closely. The angel felt his chest tighten a bit as he thought about all the years he'd spent longing to touch Crowley. After all those years, he'd finally gotten the chance to be with Crowley, and then he'd managed to muck it all up before he got to enjoy it.

“It was truly a lovely evening, Crowley.” Aziraphale gestured to the bookshop. “I don't suppose you'd want to come in for a bit of wine, or just to-”

“Better not,” Crowley said while staring at the ground. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Maybe – I'll stop by next week or something.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale could only remember a handful of times Crowley had turned down his company; it stung. “Well. Thank you for the lift home, dear.” He walked into the bookshop quickly so he wouldn't have to watch Crowley drive away. Aziraphale spent an hour attempting to repair a few broken bindings before giving up. Just as he was about to open a bottle of wine he had intended to share with Crowley, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Ezra! Hey, hello, I didn't wake you, did I?” It was William.

“No, no, not at all,” Aziraphale said. “Just got in, actually. Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes, yes, absolutely. Should have mentioned that first!” William laughed. “Sanjay and I were out at a pub and didn't want the night to end. We're just drinking at the shop, thought we'd call and see if you wanted to come over.”

Aziraphale still had the bottle of wine in his hand. “I'll be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

“I should mention it's a bit crowded in here, you might be drinking your wine out of a tulip before the night is over.” Aziraphale could hear Sanjay laughing in the background, and he smiled as he put on his jacket.

“Your shop is lovely and I will be outside your door before you know it,” Aziraphale said as he hung up the phone. Thank Heavens for friends, he thought as he made the short walk over to William's Flowers. True to his word, the shop was crammed full of daffodils, crocus, tulips, roses, and carnations in large plastic vases and dozens of houseplants dangling from hooks on the ceiling. Aziraphale batted a few pothos vines out of his way as he made his way through the narrow space.

“Would you like a seat, good sir?” William said in an exaggerated posh voice, gesturing to an upside down bucket used to hold water during the daytime. Sanjay cracked up, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

“Suppose I've got a lot of drinking to do to catch up with you two,” Aziraphale said slyly as he opened the bottle of wine he'd brought. He sipped wine out of a clean glass vase while listening to his friends talk. Sanjay had gone to a recreational badminton tournament last weekend; William found out that the retail space next door was opening up, and he was considering expanding the shop. The three of them sat and drank and talked until the barest trace of light began to appear in the sky as a soft midnight blue.

“I'm afraid that's about all for me,” William said, stretching. “I've got to sell flowers in about, oh, five hours.”

“My shop is just a few blocks over. Why don't you two come and get some rest there?” Aziraphale offered. Neither William nor Sanjay needed any convincing, and they were inside the bookshop five minutes later. Sanjay insisted William take the sofa, and then laid down on the rug with nothing but a sad-looking decorative pillow under his head.

“Oh, come now,” Aziraphale fussed. “No need for that, I've got another sofa.” He led Sanjay to a newly-conjured sofa in the back of the west wing, complete with plenty of folded blankets and two pillows. Once Aziraphale heard two distinct snoring patterns, he waved his hands around to ensure that no one had a hangover, including himself. The angel found himself uncharacteristically tired and decided to lay his head down on his desk for a moment to rest his eyes; he awoke a few hours later to the sound of William attempting to let himself out the angelically locked front door.


	31. And It's Me You Need To Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie Perren asks Crowley for yet another favor, but what's a favor between friends? The ice between Aziraphale and Crowley is beginning to thaw a bit, thankfully for these two and for all of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, it's finally 1977 and things are really starting to move and groove when it comes to some important disco moments! Buckle in and put those dancing shoes on. Thank you all so much for following along!
> 
> I actually sat and transcribed as much dialogue as I could from these [important artist without spoiler] songwriting sessions; it felt so important to have. I can't tell you how amazing it is to sit and listen to all this, such a culturally important song being written in sort of an unorthodox way. I'm losing my mind. Anyways, if you are a fan of stuff like this there are two YouTube links for it: enjoy them. 7:24 on this link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nqczq1vBBo) is where they start running through the structure of the song as it starts to appear. So fucking amazing. Here's another link from that songwriting session (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8Exb9OUz5E) So anyways. As I was writing that scene primarily from the existing dialogue and transcribing it, it felt a bit repetitive in places, but I was trying to make it feel as much like the actual recording as I could. Curious to hear thoughts from folks who click over to listen the link!!!
> 
> I also want to give everyone a heads up that I am heading into my busy season (as I imagine a lot of us are). I am striving to keep updates at once a week as I'm so fucking excited to finish this incredible story, but I ask for your patience as we head into the holidays, I gotta work for a living lol. <3

Monday 21 February 1977  
Soho

The weekend had left Crowley feeling strange and out of sorts; he had been surprised and happy to see Aziraphale, and even more surprised and happy to see Aziraphale having a good night in a pub with two of his friends while he spent the night DJing, and watching Aziraphale, while pretending not to watch Aziraphale. Then he'd refused Aziraphale's request to spend time together in the bookshop, even though it what also what he wanted. Crowley hadn't slept all weekend, and on Sunday night, he gave up the fight and headed over to his office. He stayed up listening to the pile of records that had arrived in the past week and was about to head home when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello to you too, good sir, I bet you're getting really damn tired of hearing my voice on your phone asking for a favor.” It was Freddie Perren, doing a poor impression of an English accent.

“Never, man, never. Always a pleasure to hear from you. How you been?” Crowley asked.

“Ahh, things are fine here. Can't complain.”

“Good, good, glad to hear it. What's going on?”

Freddie sighed. “Ahh, well. You remember that movie project I was telling you about last time you were here?”

“Yep.”

“Right, so. I guess there's been some clearance issues – already-”

“Some what?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, uh. Clearance issues, getting the rights to use music in the movie.”

“Right, right, okay.”

“Okay, so. Here's what I understand. It's not much,” Freddie quipped; Crowley laughed. “Latest is, they tapped the Bee Gees to write some original music for the movie because they couldn't get the rights to use any of the music they filmed it with. Or something like that.”

“All right,” Crowley said.

“You know the Bee Gees, right? Brothers, Barry, Maurice, Robin?” Freddie asked. “I think they were based in the UK before they moved to Miami.”

“Well, I mean, I know _of_ them, but I don't _know_ them personally.”

“Okay, right. So, uh, they're in France right now working on this, and I was thinking – well, wondering – if you were able to go down there for a few days.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, more surprised than anything else. "I'm not sure my uh, expertise is going to be needed-"

“I don't think you're gonna need to do much, if anything,” Freddie clarified, “but it would make me feel better knowing you were there, if you could tell me how it's going.”

Crowley flipped his calendar open out of habit; he knew he had nothing going on. “Yeah, sure. I can go down there for a few days if it would help you out.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It's no problem. No problem at all,” Crowley said.

“Man,” Freddie drawled. “I owe you so many fucking favors.”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. “Nonsense.”

“Okay, well I promise to at least show you another good time next time you're in LA.”

“Right, all right. I'll hold you to that,” Crowley said. “When do you need me to leave?” There was a long pause on the other end of the line, so Crowley sarcastically said, “Tomorrow morning?”

“How'd you know?”

“I had a feeling. Send me the information, make sure they know I'm coming so they're prepared for the vampire-looking dude from England.” That got quite the laugh out of Freddie, and Crowley was proud.

“The same guy will handle your travel. Just go there tomorrow morning and he'll get you covered. And AJ?”

“Yeah?”

“I mean it, thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

“Happy to help.” Crowley smiled as he hung up, then went through the mental checklist of all the things he needed to do before leaving town, water the plants, find some clothes, pack his favorite shaving cream and shower gel (was he out?), and then he needed to call – well, no. He didn't need to call Bob because they were no longer together; Crowley had gotten into a habit of letting Bob know his travel plans. There was something comforting about it, telling someone where he was going, how to contact him if need be. Crowley let his fingers dance over the phone for a few seconds before deciding to call Aziraphale.

“Hello?”

“Hey Angel, it's me.”

“Hello, Crowley.” The tender way Aziraphale always said his name never failed to undo Crowley.

Crowley set the phone on his shoulder and held it there while trying to think of what to say. “Are you, um, how are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, I'm doing quite well,” Aziraphale said. “I had such a wonderful time on Friday, with you, meeting Jack and Roger. I came home and spent the rest of the night with Sanjay and William over at his shop, then back to work and, well, you know. Just the usual since then. How are you, dear?”

“I'm... good,” Crowley said slowly. “Listen, I'm getting ready to go off for a work thing. Should only be a few days.”

“Off to America again?”

“Oddly enough, no, the studio's in France. Just outside Paris.”

“Oh, Paris,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Such a wonderful place. Have some crepes for me, will you?”

Crowley laughed. “If I come across some crepes I can enjoy without the threat of discorporation, I will absolutely do that.” He smiled as he hung up the phone. The weekend had been fun; perhaps once he was back in town, he'd be ready to spend an evening at the bookshop with Aziraphale. Just as friends, he reminded himself as he tossed a few black shirts and an extra pair of pants in a bag.

 

* * *

 

Château d'Hérouville  
Hérouville-en-Vexin, France

Freddie's travel guy had hired a driver for Crowley once he arrived in Paris; Crowley had tried to engage in conversation with him, but his French was atrocious, and he fell asleep after the first hour. He awoke when the car came to a stop and looked around to see a classic French château. He tipped his driver and headed towards the gate. Crowley walked around the front half of the château and couldn't seem to find a way to get inside. He headed around to the back and saw four white men, all of whom had pretty intense beards, smoking outside.

“Uh, hi, yeah, I'm AJ Crowley. Freddie Perren sent me here.” No one responded to Crowley right away. He looked around. “ _Are_ you the Bee Gees?”

The tallest of the four men laughed. “Yes, that's us. I'm Barry.” He held out his hand to Crowley. Maurice introduced himself next, followed by Robin.

“And I am Michel, I'll be assisting here with you today.” The studio assistant shook Crowley's hand. “Should we all get back inside?”

“Yeah, probably, guess we better do that,” Maurice said.

“Got work to do,” Robin added. Everyone went inside; Michel pointed out a small guest room on the first floor and Crowley stashed his stuff, then headed to the studio. The live room was quite different from any studio Crowley had ever been in. It was cozy, and homey, with rugs laid over the worn carpet, an arched ceiling with exposed wood beams, and a giant wrought iron chandelier.

“Neat place,” Crowley said.

“It is quite lovely, yes," Michel said as he went into the control room.

“Can I help with anything in here?” Crowley asked Michel, who shook his head.

“I think it is probably best if you are in the room with the brothers,” Michel said. “They like to record the songwriting sessions, so, pfft, I will be here, with the tape.” He opened a copy of Rolling Stone and propped his feet up on the console.

Crowley walked into the live room and sat down on a saggy recliner. The brothers were gathered around the piano; Maurice was trying out chord progressions. Barry kept singing lines with simple la's and da's, attempting to map out the melody for Maurice to follow. Robin was interjecting lyrics occasionally and trying to direct the structure of the song. More often than not, the three brothers were singing and talking over one another at a rapid fire pace; Crowley could barely keep up with who was saying what.

“The end of the chorus goes into the beginning of the next verse,” Robin said.

“Do you want to go back to that?” Maurice asked.

Barry rolled his hands in a forward motion. “Yeah, yeah, let's do that.” Maurice found his way back to the verse. 

Crowley finally was able to cut into the conversation. “Wait, are you not going to have a lyric right there?”

“Right where?” Barry asked.

“Play that one part again,” Crowley said.

Maurice took a moment to figure out the exact part Crowley was referring to, but found it, and played it again.

Robin nodded. “It needs something there.”

Crowley opened his mouth to try out a lyric without having a single clue what he wanted to say. “And it's... me you need to show...” Crowley sang hesitantly. “I mean, it's not-”

“Oh yeah, okay, yeah,” Robin said. “Sure.”

Maurice and Barry looked at each other. “And it's me you need to show,” Barry sang.

Maurice corrected a few of the notes on the piano. “Try the run like this, and it's _me_ you need to _show_ ,” he sang, exaggerating the timing for Barry, who rolled his eyes before trying it again.

“Yeah, that's nice. Let me try it,” Barry said, humming the line to himself. Maurice started playing the verse back.

“Yeah, why not, could be nice,” Barry said before he began to sing. Crowley was blown away by the beauty of Barry's falsetto; his voice filled the room

“Hmm, major seventh, no, try a major seventh.” Barry reached over and plunked a few notes off on the keyboard.

“And then you want to go back into the chorus again,” Robin said. “Repeat it.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Maurice said, “I know what I did, but I thought I was getting into the chorus. That's what I did, but I, I don't know.”

“Go back to it from the top, let's just get the feel for it,” Robin said. “We just need to get the feel for it.”

Maurice began to play, clearly still figuring all the chords and the song's structure in the moment. Barry sang softly but clearly, and the hairs on Crowley's neck stood up. “I know your eyes in the morning sun, I feel you touch me in the pouring rain, and the moment that you wander far from me, I long to feel you in my arms again...”

As Maurice worked out new voicings on the piano, Barry messed around with the lyrics, as they weren't final, “and there is something in love I want to see,” Robin sang different words at the same time, “making love, make it happen.” Barry took over again just before the chorus, “something I feel myself, how deep is your love, how deep is your love-”

“Wait, try that other lyric there,” Robin said.

“Shouldn't we get back to it later?” Maurice asked, as he continued to play, moving forward into the chorus.

“No, no, I messed it up, let me get back to it again. Just go back,” Barry said.

“All right.” Maurice huffed a bit, but started from the pre-chorus; Barry scribbled down a few lyrics to read back.

“and there is something inside I want to see, something something summer breeze, and it's me you need to show,” Barry continued singing the melody and Crowley watched in wonder as Maurice and Robin came in, working out their three-part harmonies on the spot, “how deep is your love, how deep is your love, I really need to know,” Barry stopped them as the tempo faltered.

“You've got to keep the rhythm,” Barry said, clapping his hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin added.

“All right.” Maurice started the song from just before the chorus in time with Barry's hand tapping on top of the upright piano.

Crowley felt the energy in the room shifting as the song began to coalesce into its final form. He knew he was a part of it, but he wasn't using his powers in the same way he normally did in the studio. Rather, he felt like he was floating on the waves of emotion; Crowley had a suspicion something big was happening in here. He put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, listening to the brothers work out their harmonies. 

* * *

 

In the excitement of being a part of the songwriting sessions, Crowley had forgotten two days in a row to call Freddie at a decent hour. On Crowley's third day in France, he finally remembered and managed to get through to Freddie just before he left the studio for the day.

“AJ, thanks for calling. I was wondering how it was all going out there.”

“From what I can see it's going all right, so far it's mostly been a writing session.”

Freddie hummed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, they're doing long songwriting sessions, they record all of them, and once the songs are done, they are doing some recording here,” Crowley said.

“Hmm.” Freddie didn't sound convinced.

“Studio's got a lot of gear, it's got a good sound. But someone did mention going to... Criterion? Does that ring a bell?”

“Yeah, Criterion's in Miami. That makes sense. Great, well. Thanks again, AJ. You're a lifesaver.”

“I'm not entirely sure why I'm here, to be honest, but if I'm helping you out, I'm happy to do it.”

“Oh, you _are_ helping me out. Trust me,” Freddie said.

Crowley chuckled. “Whatever you say, man.” He hung up and shrugged. Strings and gentle rolling chords on a Rhodes were going over a smooth, familiar hi-hat driven beat when Crowley made his way back into the control room. He looked through the window to see the brothers Gibb clustered around a single microphone so closely he couldn't tell who was whom.

“They're all around a single mic?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Michel said, “that is how they to do it.”

“Wow.” Crowley crossed an ankle and listened to the Robin, Maurice, and Barry experiment with their harmonies.

 _Here in your arms, I found my paradise_  
_My only chance for happiness_  
_And if I lose you now, I think I would die_

“I can't believe they're doing this on the same mic,” Crowley said.

“Sometimes, they will do it forty, fifty times,” Michel said as he adjusted the playback volume. “This is the twentieth time today.”

 _More than a woman_  
_More than a woman to me_  
_More than a woman_  
_More than a woman to me_

The next two days passed quickly; Maurice was plunking out songs and melodies on the piano for almost the entire time that Crowley was there, and the band recorded several more tracks. When he left for London, Crowley was unclear where the project stood in terms of completion, but he felt he'd contributed what he could. Freddie seemed content to know things were proceeding along the timeline the music supervisor had set, and Crowley was always happy to do a favor for a friend. His trip home was uneventful, but once back in London, he found couldn't get Barry's falsetto out of his head. Crowley's singing voice had improved quite a bit over the past few years, but his plants didn't exactly respond positively to his 'creative' rendition of “More Than A Woman.”

* * *

 

Wednesday, 9 March 1977  
The Bookshop

It was just after 6am; Aziraphale had spent a restless few nights pacing the shop, too anxious to even read. He'd been working through his routine assignments so quickly, he was on the verge of requesting more from Heaven. After a brief and welcome moment of clarity, Aziraphale decided not to contact his boss to ask for more work, and instead picked up the phone to see if he could persuade Crowley to go on a spur of the moment adventure with him. He hadn't seen Crowley since he'd gotten back from France, although they'd talked on the phone several times, mostly about the records Aziraphale kept leaving for him.

“Yeah, hello?”

“Hello, Crowley. Do you have any plans for today?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley was caught off-guard; it wasn't like Aziraphale to be so direct. Usually he was the one who had to pick up on the angel's hints. “Uh, no, I didn't – I don't,” he stammered.

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said. “I was hoping I might be able to convince you to take a little trip with me.”

“A trip?” Crowley asked.

“Just a short one, not too far. I was,” Aziraphale took a breath to steel himself; he could do this, “wondering if I could persuade you to come to Kew Gardens with me. Today, if you're amenable.”

“Hmm. Don't suppose I could turn that down, could I?” Crowley did his best to play it cool, but he was secretly thrilled.

“Oh, wonderful.” Aziraphale exhaled in relief. “However, there is a small favor I need to ask of you.”

“What?”

“Would you mind driving?” It was a trick question; Aziraphale knew Crowley would never turn down an invitation to drive.

Crowley laughed. “You're taking me to the gardens _and_ I get to drive? Quite a day, Angel. I'll be there in twenty.”

Aziraphale smiled as he hung up the phone. All right. This wasn't going too badly so far. Maybe today he could try – again – to have a more serious conversation with Crowley. He decided to wear a rich green bowtie and suspenders, in keeping with the botanic trend. Aziraphale had barely finished putting on his jacket when he heard the distinct clicking sound of Crowley's Chelsea boots over the wooden floor of the shop. They were in the Bentley and on their way out to the gardens shortly after; Aziraphale noted with pleasure that Crowley maintained a moderate speed through the streets of London, speeding up only once they got outside the city limits.

 

* * *

 

Kew Gardens  
Palm House

Aziraphale had always loved tropical plants; it reminded him of his time in the Garden of Eden. Things were certainly simpler back then; he never wanted to go back to a time before books were so readily available, but he did miss the simplicity of that time every now and again. He watched Crowley slink into the Palm House; the demon held the door open for him with a dramatic arm gesture and then they were both enveloped into the warm, humid air. Aziraphale took off his jacket and gazed around at the vibrant plants surrounding them. Crowley tilted his head towards the angel and Aziraphale could see the slightest hint of a smile on his face. It was the first time in months he’d seen the demon smile; Aziraphale wanted to cherish the moment for as long as he could. He watched Crowley take it all in and committed the moment to memory.

Aziraphale delicately cleared his throat, and Crowley turned around. “What is it?”

“Look around.”

Crowley glanced around the greenhouse to discover he and Aziraphale were the only human-shaped beings in the room. He lowered his sunglasses just a bit to raise an eyebrow at Aziraphale. “Did you get rid of all the people, Angel?”

Hearing the familiar endearment tumble from Crowley's lips nearly undid Aziraphale. “Yes,” the angel said. “I thought you might want to take those off, perhaps,” he said, making a motion to his temple, “I could hold onto them for you if there's anything else you might want to get up to in here.”

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets. He wasn't sure he was ready for things to get too physical with Aziraphale, or anyone else for that matter, anytime soon. “I'm not sure – I don't follow.”

“Well, Crowley, look,” Aziraphale said, holding up the bottom of a vine that climbed upwards into a large palm tree and then up to an even larger one.

“Okay.” Crowley flipped his sunglasses on top of his head and looked at Aziraphale. “What about it?”

“That vine goes all the way to the top of the greenhouse.” Aziraphale's eyes had a bit of a sparkle to them.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“No one's around, just you and me.”

“What are you smiling about?” Crowley said it with his trademark snarl, but Aziraphale detected a hint of playfulness underneath.

“If you wanted to, you know, slither,” Aziraphale leaned in and emphasized the word with a nod of his head, “up that vine, to the top of the greenhouse, I bet that's quite a lovely view.” The angel turned and began walking away.

“If I-” Crowley's eyes went wide as he recalled a memory. It was all the way back, way back when, just after Adam and Eve had been kicked out of the Garden. There were no names for the days, so they all ran together. Crowley had been sent up with the vague instruction to 'cause some trouble,' and he'd not really known what that meant. He'd figured it out eventually, but it had taken a while for Eve to take a bite of the apple. There wasn't much to do back then, since Crowley had caused all the trouble he could think of at the moment. So he and Aziraphale stayed in the Garden and got to know each other. There was a string of days where Aziraphale would sit under the tree and keep watch, narrate their surroundings, and sing to him while Crowley, in snake form, slithered his way up into the top of the tree to bask in the sun for hours.

“I bet few people have ever seen it. And no one's around, and no one is likely to be around for, oh, at least an hour or so.” Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. Crowley threw his head back and laughed.

“What the hell,” he said. Crowley stepped forward into the philodendrons and Aziraphale heard rustling; moments later he saw Crowley, as a black snake, winding his way around the trunk of a palm tree. The angel couldn't quite see where Crowley had gone, so he followed the motion of the leaves.

“What's it like up there?” Aziraphale called.

“Abssssssolutely delightful.” Aziraphale had never been entirely sure how Crowley could talk when he was in serpent form, but he could understand every word. “Feelsssss like I can sssssssee for milessss.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Just let me know when you're heading down, dear boy. I'll make sure no one disturbs you,” he called up. He paced around the greenhouse for maybe an hour, enjoying the gentle sounds of rustling leaves and the glow of filtered sunlight.

“Right, coming down now,” Crowley called out. Aziraphale watched him slither down the tree; he was in a smaller form than he'd been in the first time they'd met, but his belly was still the same bright red, and, of course, he had the beautiful yellow eyes Aziraphale would recognize anywhere. Crowley slithered onto the floor and then regained his human form before Aziraphale's eyes. He stretched out his arms and rolled his neck from side to side.

“Have a nice time up there, did you?” Aziraphale asked.

“Aww, just great, Angel. It was so warm up there in the sunshine.”

“Lovely.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. “You always have had a hard time with the cold.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale before he donned his sunglasses. The angel had caused a bit of mischief just for him, kept a whole lot of people out of there using God only knows what sort of magic, allowed him to bask in the sun for an hour at the top of the greenhouse. Crowley went a bit soft inside at the kindness and the _fun_ of it all, and he took a step towards Aziraphale. “That I do. Hate the cold.”

“I'd hate for you to get... cold,” Aziraphale said as he dragged his eyes slowly down Crowley's face. Crowley caught the moment when the angel got distracted looking at his lips.

“And you. Downright devious, you are,” Crowley said, popping the words out of his mouth. They were closer than they'd been in months; Aziraphale could feel the warmth of Crowley's face next to his and the angel turned towards him, desperately seeking the affection he'd been missing. Aziraphale was surprised to feel Crowley's slender fingers on his jaw, and even more surprised when Crowley kissed him, rather, when Crowley placed his lips against Aziraphale's cheek and just left them there for a while. “That was fun, Angel. Shall we head back to the shop?” Crowley began strutting towards the exit, and Aziraphale followed closely behind, feeling lighter than he had since December.

 

* * *

 

Once back at the bookshop, Aziraphale pulled out a few bottles of a spectacular 1958 Burgundy that Crowley had mentioned a few times in passing. They retreated to the back of the shop and to familiar positions and manners; Crowley sprawled across the sofa and Aziraphale sitting in his chair. They worked their way through the wine more rapidly than normal, which Aziraphale chalked up to both of them being a bit nervous to be in the bookshop together, (alone) at night. Aziraphale did his best to keep a light mood, but he was really trying to find the right moment in which to start a more serious conversation. Crowley felt the tension building in the air; he could tell Aziraphale wanted to talk about something, but he would be damned if he had to be the one to bring it up, like always. They were both well and truly drunk when Aziraphale decided that he'd better at least try to have a talk with Crowley before it got to be too late.

“Crowley, I'd -” Aziraphale gestured with his hand and knocked over his glass and the entire bottle of wine with it. “Oh, fuck.” It was an uncharacteristically clumsy move (and curse) for the angel, even when drunk, and Crowley finally snapped.

“All right, Angel. Out with it.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly. “I'm sorry?” he asked as he cleaned up his mess and refilled his glass.

“Come on. You've been fidgeting since we got here. Something's on your mind, so out with it,” Crowley said flatly, in a marked contrast from his earlier mood. Aziraphale stood and slowly made his way to the sofa and sat down gingerly as far away from Crowley as was possible. The angel coughed and set down his newly replenished wine.

“Yes, well, all right. There are, ah, there are a few things I would like to talk with you about, dear.” Aziraphale was shooting Crowley little nervous sideways glances every now and again, but not really looking at the demon.

“All right.” Crowley didn't move.

“Before we start, though, how – um, how much have you had to drink?”

“Same as you. Think we had three bottles each.”

“Crowley, dear, I'd,” Aziraphale stammered over his words. Why couldn't he just say it? “I'd much prefer to have this conversation with both of us in a sober mind.”

“There is no way I'm having whatever 'this conversation' is sober,” Crowley said, collapsing onto his sofa into a familiar sprawl. Aziraphale let out a helpless sigh and looked over at him.

“Crowley,” was all Aziraphale could get out as scooted a little closer to the demon, his clammy fingers fidgeting with his pinky ring. Crowley kicked his boots off and curled up in a ball, his gangly limbs poking out in all directions. Aziraphale huffed. “Dear, that can't be comfortable.”

“I'm fine,” Crowley muttered into the crook of his elbow.

“I would really love it if you'd sober up now,” Aziraphale asked, with a bit of an edge to his tone. “I want to talk to you.”

“Nothing good ever comes after that statement, Angel.”

Something in Aziraphale finally snapped. “You have to know that I care about you very much,” he said softly. He was gripping his thighs so firmly that the fabric of his tan trousers stretched around his fingers into radial lines. “You, dear. Dammit. There's no way - I thought you _knew_ that.” His voice shook over the last few words, a delicate thread threatening to break loose.

Crowley suddenly wasn't as drunk as he had been, but he certainly wasn't sober, either. His vision was a bit blurry and he felt a lurching feeling in his stomach. Did Aziraphale just say...

“I didn't,” Crowley croaked.

“If there's – if you don't. I really would like to talk to you about some things, dear, we haven't had a chance to, really, since, and-” Aziraphale rambled until Crowley cut him off.

“Angel,” Crowley brought his hand up, “stop. I'm not – I don't want...” he trailed off into a truly dramatic sigh. “Just don't want to talk right now,” he finally muttered.

“All right.” Aziraphale pursed his lips and moved to stand; he was stopped by Crowley’s slender arm pressing against his stomach.

“Wait,” Crowley said. He wanted to say ‘please don’t leave,’ but the words didn’t come. Aziraphale stared down at Crowley, who steadfastly refused to look him in the eye.

“Do you want to stay?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded. “Well. I wouldn't ask you to leave if you want to stay. I do wish to continue this conversation further when we are both in a sober mind, I would-” Aziraphale was cut off by the sound of Crowley groaning. He looked over to see the demon covering his face with his arm and grimacing. “Goodness, dear, that can't be comfortable, won't you-” Aziraphale gently took Crowley by the shoulders and started shifting him over until his head of shiny copper hair was resting on Aziraphale's lap, “-let me. Just let me hold you.”

Crowley said something that sounded like “ngk,” then settled onto Aziraphale's plush thighs and snuggled into the angel's warmth. It wasn’t long before Crowley’s breathing steadied out and Aziraphale felt his neck go completely slack, the full weight of the demon's head resting completely in his lap.

Aziraphale rarely slept, so he was used to staying up and watching the light reenter the sky. He knew this wasn't a situation that would be resolved with a single conversation. Yet he wanted more than anything to repair the hurt he’d caused over the years. He stroked the longer back portion of Crowley's hair away from his collar and let his hand rest on the nape of Crowley's neck.

“My sweet, sweet serpent, I've missed you,” Aziraphale whispered, gazing down at where Crowley laid across his lap. “Such a beautiful creature you are.” He gently ran his fingers through Crowley's hair; it had gotten quite a lot longer since the last time he was able to touch it. Crowley wasn't quite asleep, but he wasn't awake either; just conscious enough to hear Aziraphale saying lovely things to him in a voice so soft he thought at first he must be dreaming. Crowley stayed awake as long as he could, shifting positions to throw his arm around Aziraphale's delightful tummy before succumbing to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Thursday 21 April 1977  
Radio Invicta  
undisclosed location

For the last few months, Crowley had been going a bit over his time on Radio Invicta. It started one night where he miscalculated the length of a 12” single and since then, he'd been ending at fifteen after, then twenty, and the last few weeks, he'd played music until 12:30am. Crowley had been getting so many stacks and stacks of records mail to him at his office, his flat, and Radio Invicta (despite changing addresses), he didn't know what to do with them all. His Thursday nights became more of a listening hour; he'd pick songs to play based on their titles. Crowley threw on a lot of records on a whim and hoped they were decent. Today, he'd arrived at Roger's to discover a record-shaped package sent priority from America. There was no return address; Crowley opened it up to reveal an album by Thelma Houston labeled “Advance Copy.” He flipped it over. Taped to the back was a note:

Hey you,  
This won't be out for a few months.  
Someone gave it to me, but I thought you'd enjoy it more.  
Is your phone broken?  
Pick it up sometime,  
Bob

Crowley took a deep breath. He was still a bit tender around the edges about their split, but it was probably time to stop dodging calls. Roger padded down the hallway to the kitchen, got the kettle going, then sat down next to Crowley. “Show seems like it's been good tonight.”

“Yeah, can't believe it got to be so late. Is it all right for me to go until 1am?” Crowley asked Roger. “I won't do it if it's a problem for you.”

“No, mate, it's fine, absolutely fine,” Roger said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it's great.” Roger shrugged. “People seem to like it. And god knows you've got enough bloody records for it.”

Crowley laughed. “All right, then.” He waited for the song to finish, then spoke into the microphone. “This is AJ Crowley, your guardian of the groove here on Radio Invicta. Due to popular demand, and the fact that I have a pile of records coming to me every week, we're gonna go for an extra hour tonight. So sit back and enjoy.” He put on the advance copy he'd received without saying the name of the artist; no record executives were likely listening to his pirate radio show, but best not to push it.

A bright brass intro kicked off the track; Crowley thought it was a song that would be well-suited for the dance floor. Roger was nodding along.

“That's nice, yeah. You want a cup of tea?”

Crowley nodded. “Sure. Then come back here and help me pick a few songs out of all this,” he said, gesturing at the stacks of records that covered the table.

 _Any way you like it, yeah, it's all right_  
_Any way you like it, you can do it all night_  
_Any way you like it, ooh, make no fuss or fight_  
_It's on you, what you do, so get down, down, down, ooh_

 

* * *

 

The Bookshop  
Soho

Aziraphale's taste in music had expanded significantly since the first night he'd listened in to Crowley's radio show. He'd noticed trends shifting in the past few years towards songs with a solid beat. He couldn't stop his body from moving along with the music even though he'd never heard the song before. By the time the second chorus rolled around, the angel was able to sing along, and he did so, loudly enough that his voice echoed off the ceiling. Aziraphale rearranged the front display table, singing and dancing as he did so. It felt so nice to move his body like this; he was starting to understand why he overheard so many conversations about going out and dancing.

 _Any way you like it, I said, it's all right_  
_Any way you like it, you better make your move_  
_Any way you like it, you ain't got nothing to lose_  
_It's on you, what you do, so get down, down, down, ooh_

 

* * *

 

Friday 6 May 1977  
The Bookshop  
Soho

 

Crowley and Aziraphale had slipped into a routine that was equal parts familiar and new; Aziraphale kept buying Crowley records, once a week or so he would catch Crowley on the phone and they'd talk music and other random happenings for a few hours, and once every few weeks, Crowley would come by the bookshop. Aziraphale somehow always had a bottle (or six) of Crowley's favorite wines around. They'd sit in the same spots they'd been sitting in for several decades, and most importantly, they'd talk. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had brought up the night that Crowley fell asleep in Aziraphale's lap as the angel stroked his hair and whispered sweet nothings to him, and Aziraphale still hadn't found the courage to continue the conversation he'd been trying to start. However, things between them were better than they'd been in a while. Aziraphale felt better knowing that Crowley at least had him to socialize with, rather than being alone; and Crowley, for the first time, was enjoying the experience of Aziraphale taking the initiative in their relationship. Rather, their friendship. Or whatever the hell it was. Crowley was trying not to think too hard about it as he listened to Aziraphale talk about this week's meeting of the gay book club.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

Aziraphale was holding up a bottle of whisky. “I picked this up the other day, you know, in case you might want something a bit stronger than wine. Would you like some?”

“Hmm.... I think I'll just have another glass of wine, if it's all the same to you,” Crowley said.

“Ahh, well, as the song says, 'any way you like it,'” Aziraphale sang a little snippet of the song back to Crowley before setting the bottle down on the ground next to him.

“What did you say?”

“You know, any way you like it,” Aziraphale sang. It took Crowley a minute to realize he recognized it from the Thelma Houston record he'd received an advance copy of a few weeks ago.

Crowley cocked his head. “How do you know that song?” To his knowledge, he was the only person on any London radio station, legit or pirate, that had a copy of this record.

Aziraphale's eyes widened slightly. “Well, you mentioned it to me, Crowley. At least, I think you did.”

“I did?”

“Yes, I believe it was when we spoke the other day.” Aziraphale got up to flip the record over. Crowley knew Aziraphale was lying; they'd known each other long enough for him to be able to tell. The thing Crowley couldn't figure out was _why_ Aziraphale would lie about something so insignificant. Aziraphale knew he was working in the music industry, Aziraphale knew lots of people were sending him records constantly, it wasn't exactly a secret that Crowley did a radio set on Thursday nights... wait. Crowley set down his glass of wine and ran his hands slowly down the tops of his thighs – was Aziraphale _listening to his radio show_? Crowley's vision went a little blurry around the edges at the possibility.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was now standing before him with a small box. “I picked up something the other day, I'm not sure if you'll like it, but I wanted you to at least give it a try.” Aziraphale opened the box to reveal what appeared to be six small chocolate truffles. Crowley was not known to be much of an eater, but for certain chocolates, he would make an exception.

“Hmmmph, what is it?”

“It's the darkest chocolate they had.” Aziraphale's eyes were sparkling and he looked positively giddy. “Ninety-four percent. Over a truffle, of course. A _real_ one.” He held the box a little closer to Crowley, who picked one up and carefully took a bite. It was delicious; dark, bitter, smoky, with herbal undertones to finish it off.

Crowley moaned while taking the other half of the truffle and popping it in his mouth. “Oh, that's – wow,” was all he could get out.

“You like it?” Aziraphale sat next to him and their thighs touched for the first time in months.

“I've never had chocolate so good,” Crowley said. He truly hadn't; leave it to Aziraphale to find the best chocolate on earth. “Go on, you've got to try one too.”

“But I got them for you,” Aziraphale protested, plucking another truffle out of the box. He brought the truffle up to Crowley's lips; the angel was doing that thing again where he was staring intently at Crowley's mouth. Crowley knew he should close his eyes, but he couldn't. Aziraphale's fingers brushed against his lips as Crowley ate the truffle directly from his hands.

Aziraphale caught a brief glimpse of the forked end of Crowley's tongue sweep over his fingers and immediately felt a hot tension building low inside him; it had been so damn long since he'd had any part of Crowley paying attention to any part of him. He was convinced it was going to drive him insane. The angel mustered up some self-control and slowly pulled his hand away from Crowley's mouth. The last thing Aziraphale wanted was to push Crowley into anything he wasn't prepared for or didn't want.

“Quite good, but,” Crowley said, reaching into the box and taking out a truffle, “I still think you should try one.”

Crowley placed the truffle gently against Aziraphale's mouth and watched as the angel's lips opened and swallowed the chocolate directly from his hand. He saw Aziraphale lick the corners of his mouth and thought he might discorporate. His gaze slowly traced up the angel's face until he locked eyes with Aziraphale and they both froze. They stayed like that, staring at one another for a long moment that felt like it was suspended in amber, until the sight of Aziraphale's fluttering eyelashes made Crowley blink in sympathy and he realized exactly how close their faces were.

“I guess... I should... get uh, going on home,” Crowley finally said, breaking eye contact to stare at his clenched hands. He scooted forward on the sofa a bit, and Aziraphale gently laid a hand on his forearm.

“Right, I suppose so. Well, um. It was lovely having you over, I mean – it's been lovely having you over so often these days,” Aziraphale said softly. “I quite like it.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale; the angel had his head tilted downwards and was fidgeting with his hands. Heavens, he was sure trying, wasn't he? “I like it too, Angel,” Crowley said. He grabbed Aziraphale's hand and helped him off the sofa. Crowley took the angel's hand and set it in the crook of his arm as they walked silently to the front door. With a vague motion of his fingers, Aziraphale unlocked the bookshop doors.

“I suppose I'll... see you soon?” Aziraphale asked shyly. Crowley nodded and gave the angel a kiss; his lips landed at a place that was in between Aziraphale's cheek and the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale was so stunned, the familiar clicking of Crowley's boots down the sidewalk barely registered, and it was a few minutes before he realized he hadn't closed the doors.

* * *

 

Friday 20 May 1977  
Radio Invicta  
undisclosed location

Crowley hadn't been able to stop thinking about Aziraphale's fingers next to his lips, feeding him chocolate, or the sight of Aziraphale's tongue sweeping across his hand as he'd returned the favor. He'd woken up one morning from a particularly vivid dream to find he'd soaked his sheets for the first time in several decades. It had been distracting, to say the least. He had asked Roger to sit through the first two-thirds of his set with him; their conversations made it easier for him to focus on keeping the music rolling. It was currently almost 1am, Roger had gone off to bed, and Crowley was getting ready to shut down the night. His eyes landed on a record he'd listening to for several years, but had never played on air. “What the hell,” he said softly to himself.

 _Make sure you have someone who loves you (make sure)_  
_Make sure you have someone who loves you, yeah!_

“And that was 'Make Sure (You Have Somebody to Love You)' by none other than the Dells. If you've ever been up to Manchester, you've probably heard that one.” Crowley cleared his throat. “All right. It's far past our bedtime here at Radio Invicta, so I'm gonna bid you all a very good evening. This last song, well, it's for everyone out there who's got a very special angel in their life. I'm AJ Crowley, you've been listening to Radio Invicta, and this is Minnie Riperton.”

A smooth electric piano and atmospheric percussion kicked off the song; Crowley set his headphones down and listened to the first verse, imagining the song making its way through the airwaves, into the bookshop, and eventually to Aziraphale's ears.

 _What we're making is history_  
_Fooling impossibility_  
_Making love, not a fantasy_  
_Love is true, love is you_

'We'll see if he's listening in all right,' Crowley thought as he began packing up.

 _And I think you are the perfect angel_  
_I think you are the perfect one_  
_And I think you are the perfect angel_  
_I think you are the perfect one_

 

* * *

 

Crowley climbed into the Bentley and smiled at the thought of Aziraphale listening in to his ending dedication. He chuckled to himself the entire drive home. Their next evening at the bookshop would be interesting, if nothing else. He stumbled into his flat, set his record bag on the floor, and had his plant mister in hand when the phone rang. A sly smile crept onto Crowley's face as he walked over to his desk. Perhaps it was Aziraphale, calling with some excuse to lure him over to Soho in the middle of the night.

“He-llo?” Crowley said playfully, expecting to hear a flustered Aziraphale.

“AJ? Are you there?” He was surprised to hear Donna's voice on the line.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here,” Crowley said. “Late night for you?”

“Actually, I'm in London, is it all right if I come over? I really need to talk to you.”

“Where are you? I can come get you right now. Are you okay?”

“AJ, no, it's fine. I can take a cab over. I just... I need to see you,” Donna said, her voice steady and even. “I promise, I'm okay.”

“If you say so,” Crowley sighed. “Come on over.”

“Okay. I'm on my way.” The minute Donna hung up the phone, Crowley bounded out the door and down the stairs to wait for her out front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bee Gees process: https://www.beegees.com/the-process/
> 
> Crowley referring to "if you've been to Manchester" is a reference to Northern Soul and the types of music that got played in clubs up in Manchester during that movement.
> 
> More links coming soon!!
> 
> ALSO: no one needs to worry about Donna! She’s okay! But 1977 was a huge year for her👀


	32. Heaven Knows / I Feel Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley again goes to Munich for another important session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I was so surprised to see how many people were so worried about Donna. 1977 was a big year for her, professionally and personally. Hope you enjoy hearing (my artistic rendition) of the true story behind one of the most important songs of the 20th century, complete with ineffable husbands <3

Heaven Knows / I Feel Love

A black cab stopped in front of the entrance to Crowley's flat. The door opened and Donna stepped out, wearing a flowing purple paisley dress and her oversized sepia-tinted sunglasses.

“AJ!” Donna ran to him and threw her arms around his shoulders; since she practically leapt onto him, Crowley lifted her up and spun her around a bit.

“Hey you,” Crowley said into her hair, which smelled of plumeria and tiaré flower. “What's going on? Please tell me you're all right.”

“I'm okay, I just. I needed to see you.”

“Course, of course,” Crowley said. “Anything.” They stood on the street, staring at each other for a minute, until Donna laughed.

“Are... we gonna go up to your flat? Or do you want to sit down? It's uh, it's kind of a long story,” she said, smiling.

Crowley shook his head and laughed. “Good point, let's go on up,” he said fondly.

 

* * *

 

They made their way into Crowley's flat; Donna insisted on brewing a tea blend she'd brought with her, and she eventually settled onto the sofa, surrounded by every decorative throw pillow Crowley had. She took a deep breath, set down her tea, and extended her hands for Crowley to hold, speaking only after Crowley reached out and took her hands in his.

“I've met someone, I've met the love of my life,” Donna said.

“The love of your – wait, are you still with Peter?” Crowley was confused.

“I'm going to have to end things with him.” Donna looked down at her hands and Crowley felt them trembling. “I love him, but he's not the right person for me. I had the, AJ, I swear it was the craziest experience, and I've... I just know what I have to do.”

“What happened? Did something happen between you two?” Crowley was repeating himself, but he was just trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Donna gave his hands a squeeze and then released them.

“I'm gonna need these,” she said, laughing, as she worked a hair tie off her wrist and pulled back her hair. Crowley kicked off his boots and positioned his feet underneath him.

“Okay. All right. Where to start. So, I was just in Los Angeles and I met a bassist, his name is Bruce. And I just don't know, AJ. We had – it was just the best energy between us. I could feel it between us the entire time. Every time I'd feel it behind me, and I'd look back, and he'd be there, watching me. It's like,” she fluttered her hands in the air. “It's magic, I'm not sure what else to call it.”

“Okay,” Crowley said. He took a sip of coffee and tried his best to follow as Donna told him all about meeting Bruce at a record label event, talking with him, learning about his band, and beginning to write songs with him.

“Wait, you've been writing songs with him?” Crowley asked, trying to follow along.

“Well, yes, we met in March and I-”

“Two months ago?! You met him two months ago and you didn't tell me?” Crowley screeched.

“AJ! I didn't tell anyone! I only told my astrologer.” She sighed and reached for her tea. “Peter and I have been having problems for a while, nothing too serious or anything, but...”

“But?”

“I thought that if I didn't tell anyone about it, I could ride it out, you know? I was... I was with – I'm _still_ – with someone else, I don't live in LA, I have a lot going on in my life right now, as you know...” she trailed off and stirred her tea with a manicured finger.

“I know, I know. I'm sorry, I didn't.” Crowley sighed. “I just want to know what's happening, you know. With you, your life.”

“Oh, I should have told you, AJ. I should have. I just, I feel it, you know?” Donna said. Her eyes were glowing, almost fiery, and she had a radiance about her. Crowley had never seen her looking so good, so happy. “I feel love. I feel it between us.”

“Are you happy? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he does,” Donna said. “I mean. We're not _together_ together, you know. Not like that. Not yet. But he's very kind.”

“Well... if you're happy, then I'm happy,” Crowley said honestly. “Really.”

“AJ, you're, oh, you're such a good friend.” Donna took Crowley's hand as a few tears began slipping down her cheeks.

“Oh, hey, hey, none of that.” Crowley quickly scooted over next to her. He put his arm around her as she let out a few heaving sobs. “What's – why are you crying?” As Donna gathered herself to speak, Crowley used a minor bit of magic to reach under the couch and conjure up a box of tissues, which he held out.

“I'm just, I'm so overwhelmed,” she said, grabbing a tissue and dabbing her eyes. “I know you like Peter and you've spent so much time with us. I was hoping you wouldn't be angry with me.”

Crowley scoffed. “No, never.”

“And then I was worried you'd think I'd really gone crazy, you know, what with the astrologer and all.”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope.”

Donna laughed as she cried, continuing to dab at her eyes periodically. “Honestly, I can't believe we've not talked more about my astrologer. If you want her to do a reading for you, just let me know, okay?”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Crowley deadpanned, getting a sound out of Donna that was more laugh than cry.

“I just feel like my entire life is about to change. It's huge. I'm overwhelmed.”

Crowley didn't know what to say, so he kept his arm around Donna and patted her back until she'd calmed down enough to drink the last of her tea. “Do you mind putting on more water?” she asked. Crowley took her mug and walked over to the kitchen counter. “I think it's going to be a friendly split with Peter. So, don't feel like you have to, I don't know, stop talking to him on my account or anything like that. I'm probably going to be moving to LA soon.”

Crowley couldn't hide the twist in his gut at those words. He'd grown accustomed to having a friend relatively close by, and his face fell as he thought about how much harder it would be to see Donna if she was literally halfway around the world. “Lots of,” he tried to say something, anything, “music jobs there in Los Angeles, yeah. Great music town.”

“Oh, AJ,” Donna stood and walked over to where Crowley was fiddling with his electric kettle. “I'll get up at 3 in the morning if that's what it takes for us to stay in touch.”

Crowley felt warm tears threatening to spill out under his sunglasses and bit his lip. “Me too. I don't mind coming to LA to see you. Maybe you can find me some clients. Or something.”

“Honey, that won't be a problem. You're making quite a name for yourself.”

Crowley cocked his head and let out a sound of agreement. “All right. If you say so.”

“Shit, I almost forgot the _other_ reason I needed to see you today,” she said, tapping her head. “Can't remember anything these days.”

“Hmm?” Crowley asked as the kettle clicked off.

Donna's shoulders raised as she sucked in a breath. “So, um. Pete, you remember Pete, right? Engineer with Georgio?”

“Course, yeah.”

“He was in LA for a while right when I met Bruce, they've been working on a new song for me.”

“Ah. That's great,” Crowley said, filling Donna's mug with steaming hot water.

“We're gonna record it this week, as in, possibly tomorrow. Or whenever I can get to Munich.”

“Uhh, okay.”

“Will you come?” Donna asked.

“Uhh...” Crowley's mouth fell open. “I mean, yeah, I think I can.” Donna stared at him as she refilled her tea infuser with the blend she'd brought with her. “I just, um, I'm gonna need to talk to Ezra.” He hadn't spoken to Aziraphale in a week or so, but they'd made tentative plans to see a show over the weekend.

“Bring him,” Donna said casually.

“Bring him... where?”

“Bring him to Munich.”

Crowley stared blankly. “Mmrrrrrrt,” he said.

Donna rolled her eyes and put a hand on her cocked hip. “Please – for the _love_ of all things holy – _please_ fucking tell me things are better between you two. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely, things are better.”

“Good. If he hadn't taken the advice I'd given him, I was gonna be _pissed_!” She said the last word a half octave or so above her normal speaking voice.

“Advice, you-”

“We had lunch the last time I was in town. Anyways, bring him to Munich!”

Crowley jammed his hands in his pockets and tried to think of a good reason _not_ to invite Aziraphale to Munich. “I mean, okay, yeah, I can see if he's free. He might not, you know – he might be busy, but I can ask,” he rambled.

Donna held out her hands. “Uhh, yeah? Just ask. All of it's on the record label, so... why not? Might as well work it, you know.”

“Okay, yeah, I'll uh...” Crowley looked at the clock. It was well past 3am. “Why don't we uh, let's get a little rest, and I'll call him in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah, goodness. How did it get to be so late?”

“Guess that's what happens when you're having fun,” Crowley quipped. He watched Donna pull the blanket on the back of the sofa over her body. “Oh no, no no. Take my bed.”

“AJ, no. I can't do that.”

“You can, and you will,” Crowley said, pointing to his room. “Can't have Germany's top disco superstar sleeping on a couch.” Donna laughed as she stood up and kissed Crowley on the cheek.

“You're too sweet to me,” she said.

“Not true. Get some sleep.” Crowley settled in on the sofa and proceeded to stare at the ceiling until the sun came up.

* * *

 

Around 6:30am, Crowley was growing a bit tired of pretending to sleep; he figured he'd better call and talk to Aziraphale before Donna woke up.

“Hello?” Aziraphale's voice generally sounded the same at all hours of the day, something only an angel could pull off, Crowley mused.

“Good morning.”

“Crowley! Good morning indeed.”

“How... uh, how are you?”

“Oh, I'm wonderful, dear, doing wonderfully. Just having a spot of tea,” Aziraphale said.

“That's uh, that sounds nice,” Crowley said in a clipped tone.

“What about you? It's quite early. Are you all right?”

Great, now he'd gone and gotten Aziraphale worried. Crowley smacked a hand to his forehead. “Yeah, yeah, of course, I'm fine. Just wanted to see if you, uh, if you might...” Crowley trailed off; he thought he heard rustling coming from his bedroom. All right, he'd need to get this over with before Donna woke up.

“If I might what?”

Crowley let out a long sigh. “Sort of a long story, it's a work thing, Donna asked me to go to Munich with her to record a new song. Thought I'd see if you wanted to come along.” His voice trailed off over the last sentence and Aziraphale almost didn't hear the ask.

“I'd love to go.”

“You... you would?”

“Absolutely, Crowley, I'd love to. It's been a long time since we've been to Munich,” Aziraphale said. It was true; they'd gone there once, a few years after the 'Bastille incident,' as Aziraphale called it. A work assignment of Aziraphale's coincided with the opening of a new urban park being created in the center of the city. Crowley may have invented a few minor temptations for himself in order to tag along. All they'd done was walk around the Englischer Garten for a few hours, but Aziraphale hadn't forgotten it.

“Right, all right. Great. Well, um, we... we'll need to leave today.” Crowley expected Aziraphale to back out at this point, as the angel had never been one for last-minute plans.

“Oh. Oh my. All right. Today, you say?”

“Yeah, Angel, probably as soon as possible.” Crowley thought he heard the sound of something crashing to the floor. “You all right?”

“Yes, I just – it's fine. All right, well, I should get going then as, ah, I need to pack and close up shop,” Aziraphale said.

“Okay. We'll come pick you up, I guess? Or, wait. I'll call when I know the plan.” Crowley would only believe Aziraphale was coming once he saw him packed and ready to go.

“Sounds perfect, dear, I'll await your call.”

“Right. Uhh, okay, I'll talk to you soon then.” Crowley said awkwardly. He hung up the phone and stared at it for a while before he heard the sound of his bedroom door open.

“Good morning.” Donna was standing in Crowley's doorway, wearing what looked like one of Crowley's silk pillowcases over her hair and his black bathrobe with a snake embroidered on the front. “Hope you don't mind I borrowed all this.”

“Not at all, you could have borrowed my pyjamas if I'd remembered.”

“AJ?”

“Do you need to borrow something else to wear? Just take whatever you want,” Crowley said.

“No, it's not that. I just realized something,” Donna went back into his bedroom and came out holding the clothes she'd been wearing last night. “You've never told me when your birthday is, all these years we've been friends, and I don't even know your birthday.”

“My birthday?” Crowley asked, flipping open the calendar on his desk. “It's... uh, it's in November.”

“November what?”

“November... 2nd,” he said.

“I knew it!” Donna exclaimed as she went into the bathroom.

Crowley stood and walked closer to the bathroom. “You knew what?”

“I knew you were a Scorpio,” she said through the door.

“You did _not_ know that,” Crowley said.

“I did,” Donna said, stepping out of the bathroom, already dressed and ready to go.

“That was fast.”

“You get good at it once you've been in a few stage shows. So, I heard you talking to Ezra. He's coming, right?”

“Yep, yeah, he's coming.”

“Okay, here's the plan. I'm gonna go back to my hotel, get everything together, clean up, then you and Ezra will meet me there and we'll all go together,” Donna said as she walked towards the door. “Georgio has a friend with a jet who will take us to Munich.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Quite posh.”

“Only the best for us. Okay, I'll see you in, what, is two hours enough time?”

“Sounds fine.” Crowley walked over to the door and gave Donna a kiss on the cheek. “See you soon.”

She flounced out the door, and Crowley assembled his usual travel bag in a few minutes. He did a walk through of the plant room and discovered one of his Monstera plants had sprouted three new beautiful leaves since the last time he'd checked. “All right, looking good in here,” he said. “Keep it up and there will be fewer threats.”

 

* * *

 

Munich, West Germany

The trip to Munich had gone better than Crowley expected; he'd had his reservations when he'd gone to pick up Aziraphale and the angel had not one, but _three_ suitcases waiting at the door. After a brief spat, Crowley had convinced Aziraphale to take only the largest of the three. “If you need more clothes, I have it on good authority that they sell clothing in Munich,” Crowley snapped, as Aziraphale huffed and took the other two suitcases up the stairs. They'd driven to meet Donna at the private airport and Crowley rearranged part of a street to make a safe spot for the Bentley to be for a few days. Aziraphale and Donna had chatted like the best of old friends on the flight over; she retold most of the story that she'd shared last night, but with Aziraphale, she was even more animated than usual. Crowley pretended to sleep, but watched with amusement as the two of them gossiped, laughed, and worked through a bottle of champagne on the way over to Munich. Once on the ground, a car was waiting for them; Aziraphale and Crowley checked into their hotel while Donna waited outside. The hotel clerk handed Crowley the key to their room and a hotel porter loaded their bags onto a cart. Crowley handed the key to Aziraphale.

“I've got everything I need, you okay if I stay down here?”

“Um, sure,” Aziraphale took the key and followed the hotel porter into the elevator. Crowley waited until the doors were closed, pulled his wallet out, then leaned over the counter.

“Are you able to, uh, maybe put some flowers in our room?” Crowley whispered conspiratorially, forking over a wad of pounds that transformed into marks on their way into the clerk's hands.

“Yes, sir, but that's not necessary-”

“Shh,” Crowley said.

The clerk looked down at the cash in her hands and then back up at Crowley. “What type of flowers?” she asked.

“Something pretty, white, pink, something that smells good.”

The clerk nodded solemnly. “I will make sure it is beautiful.”

“Oh, do you think you could add some chocolates, too?” Crowley hurriedly tossed a few more notes behind the counter just before elevator door opened and Aziraphale walked out. Crowley offered the angel his arm, and Aziraphale took it, while shooting him a slightly suspicious look.

“What was that all about?” he asked as Crowley opened the car door for him.

“Nothing,” Crowley said.

 

* * *

 

Musicland Studios

It was almost early evening by the time Crowley, Aziraphale, and Donna made it to the studio; Aziraphale trailed a bit behind Donna and Crowley, taking it all in. As they went down the stairs, the sounds of a rhythmic, rolling synth greeted them. Crowley had never heard anything like it;

“Oh, that's Keith,” Giorgio said. Crowley peered in to see a white guy with a spiky haircut hitting the snare and... was that a phone book sitting on the hi-hat?

“What's with the...” Crowley asked.

“Ahh, ahh, yes. The phone book. I am recording each drum separately.”

“You're... what?” Crowley had never seen it done this way before, nor had Donna.

“Yes, I need the sounds to be, they need to be separate.”

“Okay, yeah,” Crowley said. He watched as Keith hit the snare; his rhythm was so perfect it was almost unbelievable. “Hey, he's really holding it down there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete said. “Like a metronome.”

“Would anyone like coffee?” Giorgio asked.

“You gonna – is he gonna keep...?” Crowley pointed to Keith in the live room.

“Yes,” Giorgio waved his hand and walked out of the control room. “He's been playing the drum for a half hour. I'll stop him in twenty minutes.”

Crowley and Donna shared a look, and everyone followed Giorgio into the cramped kitchen, where there was some surprisingly good coffee waiting for them. Georgio passed out a few chipped mugs and addressed Aziraphale. “We haven't met, I am Giorgio,” he said, reaching out to shake the angel's hand.

“I'm Ezra,” Aziraphale said quietly, still not entirely used to the nickname.

“AJ's partner,” Donna added. Crowley kicked himself internally for not leading off with that and stepped a bit closer to Aziraphale.

“Ah. It is a pleasure to meet anyone close to AJ. Donna mia, I did things a bit differently this time,” Giorgio said.

“How so?”

“There is no melody, I will need you to help me make the melody.”

“O-kay,” Donna said. “I think we can do that.”

“I've got the lyrics we worked on in LA,” Pete said.

“Great.” Donna looked around at the room. “Well, should we get started?”

Giorgio laughed. “I think we should!” he said with a jolly look on his face. Everyone filed back into the control room; the synths were still pulsing and Keith was still drumming. “I already forgot about Keith,” he said. “At this point it is like background noise.” He stopped the music and rapped on the window. “You are free, Keith.”

Keith stood up from the drums. “Bloody fucking hell,” he said loud enough to be heard from the control room. He walked into the room and gave everyone a wave.

“Nice to meet everyone, but uh, I need a cigarette,” he said, rubbing his arm. “I'll be back.”

“Take your time,” Pete said as Keith left and bounded up the stairs.

“How do we want to do this?” Donna asked as Pete handed her a sheet of lyrics. “Wait, okay. Maybe – just play it back for me and you can show me what you're thinking,” she said to Giorgio.

“Okay,” Giorgio said. He cued up the track and pressed play. An atmospheric synth chord filled the room, and then the rolling rhythm came in. All eyes were on Donna; as some of the more atmospheric sounds started to fade, Giorgio pointed at her. “This is where the melody will come in,” he said. The song moved through several more changes, Giorgio indicating more places for melodies. Finally, the song returned to a faster progression of the original chords. “Okay here, try it, Donna, I feel love,” he sang quietly.

“I feel love,” Donna sang, doing her best to follow Giorgio's hands and his voice.

“Yes,” Giorgio said, “but feel free to maybe try, try anything.”

For all he knew about how famous Donna was, Aziraphale had never heard her sing; it was unlike anything he'd heard in Heaven or beyond. He couldn't stop watching her as she stared down at the lyrics in her hand, moving her other hand up and down in time with the music, closing her eyes and varying the volume and timbre of her voice with ease. The song came to an abrupt end and Donna shrugged.

“I like it, I can work with it,” she said. “Do you want me to just get in there?”

“If you'd like,” Giorgio said. “Microphone is set up.”

“Sure, let's try something.” Crowley followed Donna into the live room to adjust the mic stand for her, then came back into the control room and stood next to Aziraphale.

“Is there anything I should or shouldn't be doing?” Aziraphale whispered.

“No, just, you know,” Crowley said. “Just listen, I guess.”

“Give me a bit of vocals, Donna,” Giorgio said.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh, I got you.”

“Okay, shall we try this?”

Donna gave a thumbs up and Giorgio hit the playback. He started the track from the beginning and holding up his fingers, four, three, two, one, then pointing at Donna when she was supposed to come in.

_Ooh, it's so good, it's so good it's so good, it's so good, it's so good_

Crowley felt like the rational response to a song this simple would be to say something sarcastic like 'that's it?' or shake his head and offer commentary on the disco phenomenon, but he couldn't deny the way the snapping of the synths was moving around him, through him; the song felt like it was leading everyone into the future. He was bopping his head back and forth,

_Ooh, heaven knows, heaven knows, heaven knows, heaven knows, heaven knows_

He looked at Donna in the live room. Crowley had never seen her look like this, she was smiling broadly and rolling her head in time with the rhythm while somehow singing over it, as though her vocals were above the rhythm and therefore didn't need to be tethered to it. She wasn't wearing white; Crowley remembered that, but her flowy blouse looked white against the darkness of the live room and at one point, Crowley swore he could see a bit of a glow coming off her.

_Ooh, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love_

Crowley listened to the clacking of the synths and the perfect, isolated hits of the snare; how could the song sound so mechanical, yet so human at the same time? Ethereal, he corrected himself, it sounded ethereal. The soaring melody sounded more like Heaven than anything he'd heard in... well, a very long time. He glanced down and noticed one side of his body appeared lighter than the other.

 _I feel love_  
_I feel love_  
_I feel love_

It was at this point that Crowley made the mistake of turning his head to look at Aziraphale. The glow on the right side of his body was coming from the angel, who was radiating so brightly he was illuminated from within. The outlines of a few of Aziraphale's extra eyes were even visible on his cheeks and neck; he looked enraptured, consecrated, _holy_. His lips were slightly parted and as he turned to his left, Crowley saw the longing on his face. It wasn't until Crowley locked eyes with Aziraphale that he realized how translucent the angel appeared; it was truly as if Crowley was able to look through him. Oddly, Crowley's normally sensitive eyes weren't affected by the radiance pouring off Aziraphale, although it was a shocking sight.

“Angel,” he breathed reverently, turning and reaching out to put his hands on Aziraphale's elbows. The moment Crowley touched Aziraphale, he felt a surge of divine power through his body, hot and electric, but not at all painful. The demon's jaw fell open as he kept his eyes on Aziraphale. Somehow he knew the angel could see his dilated pupils even behind his sunglasses. Crowley listened to the rolling, clicking, overlapping synths, and let himself _feel_ , really feel, everything coming off of Aziraphale. It was so overwhelming, all he could do was let it pass through him. It was – was it love? - or was that just the song, the intensity of the moment? Crowley couldn't exactly tell, but whatever it was, it seemed to be vibrating inside every part of him, even out to the invisible boundaries of his wings. It seemed as if he and Aziraphale were suspended inside a moment that looped on and on and folded back over itself like the delay of the synthesizers. The connection between them was abruptly shattered when the music stopped. Crowley quickly broke eye contact with Aziraphale and turned his attention back to the live room, but Donna wasn't there.

“Ahh, Donna, so beautiful. So many beautiful sounds,” Giorgio said as Donna walked in. “Do you want to hear some of it?”

“Yes, please!” Donna said. “What do you think, AJ?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Let's hear it,” he said, sitting on the sofa. Aziraphale joined him a moment later, scooting over until the side of his body was flush with Crowley's. Everyone was moving some part of their body in time with the song once it started. They'd all heard it at least a dozen times in the past few hours, yet it sounded as new and full of motion and energy as it had the first time it played. There were several tracks of vocals on the song; Crowley tried to wrap his head around the fact that apparently Donna had recorded several takes during the 'moment' in which he and Aziraphale were staring at each other through a radiant glowing flow of... whatever it was that had just happened between them.

Aziraphale burst into applause. “Oh! Oh my goodness!” he exclaimed, his eyes bright, “That's absolutely – it's utterly heavenly, if I must say so. It sounds like – Donna, you sound like a, like a full choir of angels!” Donna burst into laughter and Aziraphale's face fell. “Do you not-”

“No, no, I love it!” she said, “I love it, I'm just not used to getting this sort of a reaction. I forgot it was your first time in a studio.”

“Well-”

“I'm glad you like it so much,” she said. “Oh goodness! It's already 9 o'clock! Where did the time go?”

“I think we are done,” Giorgio said. “I knew you could do this in one day. Only you. The best.”

“Sounded great,” Pete added. “I think the mixing is going to take a while but, we'll let you know what Neil says."

Crowley put his hands on his knees; he was still dizzy from whatever it was he just witnessed from Aziraphale. “Are you all right, AJ?” Donna asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute. Sounds incredible, by the way, sounds amazing.”

“You need to eat something,” Donna said.

“I couldn't agree more,” Aziraphale added.

“All right then, you all, please go, and enjoy the best Munich has to offer,” Giorgio said. “AJ, always a pleasure having you here.” He extended his hand to Crowley. “And a pleasure to meet you, Ezra.”

Pete patted him on the shoulder. “Feels like things tend to run smoothly when you're around, AJ. Pleasure. Good to meet you, Ezra.”

“Donna, we will see you in a few days, or a few weeks. I don't know. I hope the mixing does not take too long, but,” Giorgio shrugged, “there is a _lot_ in the song.”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley's knee a little squeeze.

“You ready to get going?” Donna asked.

“Sure, yeah.” Crowley stood, and after goodbyes, followed Donna and Aziraphale up the stairs and out the door.

* * *

 

Donna took them to one of her favorite restaurants, a French place she described as 'simple but delicious.' Crowley mumbled his way through the bare minimum of conversation, unable to focus on anything other than the overwhelming flood of emotions still working their way through him. Thankfully, Donna and Aziraphale continued their easy rapport; Crowley was quite happy to see the two of them getting on like old pals over wine, dinner, and dessert.

“I'm gonna use the ladies' room before we leave,” Donna said, setting her napkin on the table and standing up from her chair. “Thank you for dinner, AJ, you didn't have to.”

“I did,” Crowley said, without looking at her. Aziraphale waited for Donna to leave before reaching over and placing his hand atop Crowley's.

“Are you all right, dear? You've barely said a word since we left the studio.” Aziraphale's eyes were sparkling despite the note of concern in his voice.

“Were you – what _happened_ back there?” Crowley asked quietly.

Aziraphale wasn't sure how to answer the question, and went for a bit of flirtatious humor. “What do you think was happening back there?” he said, batting his eyelashes just enough to hopefully send a message to Crowley. Surely Crowley could feel all the love, affection, care he'd poured out during their time in the studio The most blatant, forward way Aziraphale could think of to show Crowley how he truly felt was... to open up and just let Crowley _feel_ it. Surely they were on the same page, or at least close to it?

They were again interrupted when Donna came back to the table dressed in a low-cut, royal blue, sequined jumpsuit. Aziraphale blinked rapidly.

“Well, that's quite a look,” Crowley said.

“I threw it in my purse, I knew I wouldn't have time to run home before we went out.” She laughed and pinned a flower barrette in her hair.

Aziraphale got the feeling he was going to be dressed inappropriately for the evening's activities; it manifested as a brief rush of heartburn and he patted his chest. At least it wouldn't be the first time he'd stick out like a sore thumb. Donna hailed a cab and the three of them piled into the back seat, windows down, enjoying the pleasant warmth of a summer night. Crowley and Donna were chatting about music, and as Aziraphale wasn't quite able to follow the conversation, he used the opportunity to stare at Crowley, whose long crimson hair was flowing in the breeze. The angel noticed he'd undone a few buttons on his shirt. If Aziraphale didn't know better, he'd assume Crowley was a creature entirely of the current moment. It never ceased to amaze him how easily Crowley could slip in and out of trends, always looking completely with the times and completely himself at all times. The angel's eyes followed the lines of Crowley's throat down to the hollow at the base of his neck and lingered there for a while before he noticed Crowley's eyes on him.

“You ready?” Donna asked Aziraphale, gesturing for him to open the door. They clambered out awkwardly, and Aziraphale followed Donna and Crowley into the club; there was, of course, no admission fees for one of Munich's most famous residents and her posse. The club was dark, but once Aziraphale's eyes adjusted, he couldn't believe the scene. He nearly lost Donna and Crowley when he took a moment to look around at the dance floor, the suspended catwalk over the bar, the costumes (or lack thereof.) There was a giant disco ball throwing tiny dots of light all around the club like stars across a night sky. Someone wearing only a thong and a copious amount of body glitter brushed by Aziraphale as he passed by; he couldn't tell much else about the person, but it didn't really matter, did it? Everyone was here to dance. The angel swore he heard the sounds of a harp under the ringing of a cymbal, then the beat dropped and the crowd erupted in celebration.

 _Boogie nights_  
_Ain't no doubt, we are here to party_  
_Boogie nights_  
_Come on out, got to get it started_

 _Dance with the boogie, get down_  
_(dance with the boogie, get down)_  
_Cause boogie nights are always the best in town_

Donna led them to a private section at the back of the club and the three of them slipped under a velvet rope and into a booth. Within minutes, they were mobbed by people wanting to talk to Donna. Aziraphale had prided himself on not changing much of his fashion since the beginning of the 20th century, but as he watched person after person in slim fitting, revealing, or architectural clothing approach Donna at the table, he felt painfully out of place. Donna's jumpsuit sparkled with her every move, and Crowley looked no different than many of the other patrons.

 _Got to keep on dancin', keep on dancin'_  
_Got to keep on dancin', keep on dancin'_

After a few minutes of shaking hands and smiling, Donna lost her patience and waved everyone except Aziraphale and Crowley away. “Shit, I don't know about you,” Donna yelled over the music, “but I could really use a drink!” Crowley nodded, as did Aziraphale. “What do you want? We're not paying for a thing tonight,” she said.

“I'll have whatever you're having,” Crowley said.

“The same for me.” Aziraphale could barely hear his own voice. Donna waved over a cocktail waitress, asked for her 'special,' and then fought with Crowley for a bit as he tried to pass off his card to the waitress. Aziraphale shook his head fondly and caught Crowley's eye. A song with a driving bass line, bright horn accents, and sharp violin accents started blasting across the club and Donna grinned and stood up.

“Oh, this is fun. Who wants to come dance?” she said. Aziraphale looked at Crowley.

“I'll go out there with you,” Crowley said. “To defend your honor and all that.”

Donna threw her head back and laughed. “Thank you, I'm gonna need it. Ezra? Do you want to join us?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I think I'm going to stay put.”

“You sure, Angel?” Crowley asked. Donna shot him a look, as she'd never heard what she assumed was Crowley's pet name for his partner.

Aziraphale smiled. “I'm sure, I'll be right here,” he said. The angel sat and watched the crowd make way for Donna and Crowley. 

 _Sunny, thank you for the sunshine you gave_  
_Sunny, thank you for the love you brought my way_  
_You gave to me your all and all_  
_and now I feel ten feet tall_  
_Sunny, one so true, I love you_

He watched Crowley's legs moving in perfect time with the music and the serpentine movements of his arms and torso. Donna was singing to him with a huge smile on her face, and they seemed to be having a lovely time. Aziraphale thought about how jealous he'd initially been of Crowley's other friendships. Now, seeing Crowley experience such joy and closeness with other people made him feel relieved and happy. He was truly a different demon after a few years of roaming the world being a part of the music industry; Aziraphale saw the way people looked at Crowley when they realized who he was. He was happy for Crowley, really he was, he just hoped it wasn't too late for him to fix his many mistakes. Seeing Crowley cut loose on the dance floor was a revelation; he looked so confident and comfortable. Now his hips were swinging about freely, back and forth to the beat; Aziraphale imagined what it might feel like to hold onto Crowley when he was moving like that, and quickly lost his train of thought.

* * *

 

On the dance floor, Crowley and Donna had been doing their best to enjoy the music and field off all the fans. At one point, a woman danced over to Donna, held out a Sharpie, and exposed her breast for the singer to sign. Donna laughed it off and signed the woman's shoulder instead. Crowley tried many different moves to keep people from bothering Donna, but it wasn't until three close friends of hers joined them on the floor that they were able to make a successful 'fence' around the singer. The strategy held up through a dozen songs before there was a brief pause in the music.

Slowly, stark, mechanical sounds and a thin synth echoed over the speakers. Crowley had never heard anything like this before; it was more minimalist than anything he'd expect to come from a DJ booth. There were no vocals to speak of yet, just a robotic voice repeating the same phrase in time over the beat:

 _Trans Europe express_  
_Trans Europe express_  
_Trans Europe express_  
_Trans Europe express_

Crowley looked around at the crowd; the mood had indeed shifted, but everyone on the floor was still moving with the music. Every time he'd been out in Munich, the music people preferred was more robotic, more electronic than the soul-inspired grooves he heard in Philadelphia or even New York. Many of the sounds reminded him of Georgio's work; it was as if his fingerprints were on so many of the songs playing in the clubs here. He was nodding his head in time with the filtered synth interpretation of a train on the tracks; many of the people on the dance floor had switched to jerky dance movements, mimicking robots or the wheels of a locomotive. The song only went on for a few minutes before the DJ faded in another, faster, synth driven tune, this one with many of the same tones he'd heard in the studio earlier today. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

“AJ, I know you want to go,” Donna said. “I've got the guys here tonight, I'll be fine. Go be with Ezra.”

“You sure?” Crowley asked.

Donna nodded. “I wish he'd come dance with us, but, you know,” she shrugged, “maybe next time.”

“Right, yeah, okay.” Crowley kissed her on the cheek and used his hand in front of him to part the crowd. It took him longer than he wanted to make it back to the table where Aziraphale was seated, hands interlocked across his stomach as if he were reclining at the bookshop. Crowley had to laugh at the familiarity of it all. He had just arrived to their table when he realized it was ABBA currently blaring through the club.

 _In my dreams I have a plan,_  
_If I got me a wealthy man_  
_I wouldn't have to work at all, I'd fool around and have a ball_

Crowley held his hand out to Aziraphale. “C'mon.” He nodded his head towards the dance floor.

“I – I don't think so,” the angel said sheepishly.

 _Money money money_  
_Must be funny_  
_In a rich man's world_

“But, this is ABBA! I know for a fact you love this song,” Crowley said, flopping down on the bench next to Aziraphale.

The angel still had a troubled look on his face, but smiled a bit. “It's true, I do love ABBA so very much.” He moved his head back and forth with the beat and mouthed a few words to prove his point.

“Then come on and dance with us. We can take off after this if you want.” Crowley's arm was now around Aziraphale's shoulders, and the angel leaned into him.

“It's not that I don't want to dance, Crowley, really, it's just – I...”

“What's wrong, Angel?” Crowley grabbed his drink from the table and shifted positions slightly so he could see Aziraphale's face.

“Well, you and Donna, she's a bona fide superstar, you're – you've got this whole career, she's utterly enchanting, you're dressed so sharply, everyone's wearing,” Aziraphale gestured around to the crowd, “I just, ah, I should have asked about the attire,” he said, attempting a chuckle and running his hands over his waistcoat.

Crowley put his hand on his chin and looked Aziraphale over. “I think you look great.” It was getting late, and his voice had taken on the husky, throaty quality that Aziraphale loved; even over the steady 'tss' of the hi-hat and the string riffs, Aziraphale could feel the vibrations from Crowley's voice against his ears, his neck.

“You're drunk,” Aziraphale said in a half-hearted attempt to deflect Crowley's attention.

“Ha! I've only had three of these,” Crowley said, pointing to the neon green cocktail sitting on the table in front of them. “Not half as drunk as I normally get with you at the shop.” He nudged Aziraphale with his shoulder. The angel looked over at him, then down, then back again, then down. The way Aziraphale batted his eyelashes always threatened to take Crowley out at the knees. Eventually, Crowley turned his head and looked down at his hands. “If you want to leave, we can go.”

“Oh, I'm fine, Crowley, go enjoy yourself.” Aziraphale smiled.

“I am enjoying myself,” Crowley said, every word deliberate and measured. Aziraphale's eyes fluttered and he couldn't stop from licking his lips.

“I'm feeling – goodness, it's quite a bit warm in here, don't you think?” he asked, fanning himself and hoping once again that Crowley would pick up on even one of the hints he'd been dropping all bloody day.

Crowley tilted his head and swiveled his body around to face Aziraphale while keeping his sunglass-concealed gaze locked firmly on him; the angel started to feel a bit like prey being sized up by a predator, and he felt sparks of desire start to build low in his belly. He watched as Crowley swallowed down the rest of his drink, then leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is rather warm in here.”

“It's probably a lot cooler at the hotel,” Aziraphale said, raising his eyebrows. He was a bit surprised that Crowley didn't respond with anything other than to help him up out of the booth, although he was pleased that Crowley kept his hand at the small of Aziraphale's back until they were on the street outside the club.

 

* * *

 

The trip back to the hotel was fairly awkward; Aziraphale sat as close to Crowley as he could, asking questions about the city, almost all of which were answered with shrugs or one word responses. Eventually, Aziraphale's nerves took over and he fell silent. Had he completely misjudged the situation? He stole as many glances in Crowley's direction as he could. The angel could see the tension in his jaw and neck, and he was thankful when they finally arrived. After giving the cabbie far too much money, Crowley helped Aziraphale out of the backseat. Once inside, he nodded his head at the clerk, the same woman who had been working when they'd checked in. Crowley held the elevator door for Aziraphale and the angel took the opportunity to link his arm with Crowley's after he pressed the button for their floor. After one of the quietest elevator rides in history, the doors opened up to the fourth floor and Aziraphale directed them to the right, keeping a hand in the crook of Crowley's arm. “We're this way.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “So, anything you want to get up to? Donna said we can stay as long as we want.”

“Oh, there are plenty of ways I can see us passing the time,” Aziraphale said, laughing and patting the side of Crowley's arm. “It's quite a lovely room, you'll see, we don't even have to leave it.” Something about the casualness of Aziraphale's delivery irked Crowley, who couldn't figure out what it all _meant_. Aziraphale shot a glance over at Crowley, who looked a bit too grumpy for someone about to have the sort of night Aziraphale was trying to set up for both of them. The angel decided to try a time-honored, often successful, tactic of poking the demon. Perhaps a little humor would lighten up the situation, and they could get into their lovely hotel room, with one very plush bed and a large bathtub, and finally try to sort things out with some communication of the nonverbal variety. “Oh come on, dear, don't you want to have a little _fun_ after all this-”

His patience finally gone and his inhibitions lowered by Donna's signature cocktail and the supernatural events of the day, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall. “This isn't a _game_ for me,” he hissed, low and dangerous, his nose touching the angel's. Despite the sudden move, Crowley's sunglasses stayed put. Aziraphale's blue eyes went wide as saucers, and he hoped that Crowley couldn't tell how desperately aroused he was.

“I – Crowley, it's, this isn't a game for me either, that's what I've been trying to tell you,” Aziraphale stammered, flustered and practically gasping for air.

The crease between Crowley's brows softened and the demon bit his lip. Aziraphale's mouth fell open as his eyes found their way down to Crowley's mouth. Crowley watched as Aziraphale tilted his head ever-so-slightly to the side, and he simply couldn't take it anymore. He closed the distance between them and kissed Aziraphale, gently, tentatively. Aziraphale brought his hands to the the back of Crowley's neck, and just as he was about to roll his hips forward in a shameless attempt to finally get closer to Crowley, the demon pulled back and gripped a generous portion of Aziraphale's fluffy hair firmly in his hand. Aziraphale let out a strangled cry, a mix of shock and pleasure, and Crowley quickly let go.

“Sorry, sorry, I'm-”

“Don't be,” Aziraphale said, lurching hungrily towards Crowley's lips only to be held back against the wall.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes – _god_ – please, yes, Crowley, yes,” Aziraphale said, breathlessly.

“You listen.” Crowley growled, flipping his sunglasses atop his head. “This is it for me. Either we are,” he gestured between them, “or we aren't. No in between.” He snapped the words out of his mouth, then dipped his chin down so Aziraphale could see in his gleaming yellow eyes exactly how deadly serious he was.

“Yes,” Aziraphale panted.

“Yes what?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, to everything you just said, Crowley, didn't you feel me – _dammit_ – if you don't touch me soon I'm going to discorporate-” Aziraphale had never been more turned on in his life; a more accurate description would be he felt he was about to catch _fire_ as Crowley finally – finally – leaned in and kissed him the way he'd always wanted to be kissed. He had no idea how much Crowley had been holding back until he felt the demon's lips against his like this. There was none of the hesitation, fear, or anxiety he'd sensed in all their previous encounters. Crowley slipped a hand between Aziraphale's head and the wall without breaking contact; his tongue brushed against Aziraphale's and the angel parted his lips further, wanting nothing but for Crowley to be closer, closer. Crowley's teeth caught a bit on the outer corner of Aziraphale's lip and the angel let out a low, indecent moan. Aziraphale was so engrossed in the feel of Crowley's hands cradling his head and the pressure of Crowley's hipbones against his abdomen, he didn't notice at first that the demon had transported them into their hotel room, where a vase of pink, peach, and champagne colored roses sat on the desk, next to a small box that Aziraphale correctly assumed was some sort of chocolate. He looked at the flowers, then back at Crowley, with confusion on his face. “Why did you-”

“Just wanted to make sure this is what you wanted.” Crowley held his hands behind his back in an unusually formal stance. There was none of his usual slouching or sarcasm, only the weight of his repeated words inhabiting the space between them.

Aziraphale, finally understanding the gravity of the moment, nodded and slowly held out his hands. “Yes, Crowley, you - it's all I've ever wanted despite my utter and complete inability to-”

The angel did not get a chance to deliver any part of the monologue he'd been working over in his head for several decades. Aziraphale thought he saw a brief black flash of Crowley's wings behind him as he pounced, pinning the angel down onto the bed by flattening his entire body atop him, perhaps bending the laws of physics a bit to give his slender form a bit more heft than normal. Aziraphale was rushing to undo the buttons of his shirt when Crowley smacked his hand away. “No,” Crowley snarled as he took over the task, straddling the angel, slowly unbuttoning one, two, then three buttons. Aziraphale's shirt wasn't even a third undone before Crowley bent down to start sucking a mark just above the angel's collarbone, in the soft hollow of his neck.

“Oh,” Aziraphale, already dizzy with pleasure, clutched at Crowley's back, gripping fistfuls of his shirt and pulling it up in an attempt to get his hands in contact with Crowley's skin, “my _god_ – Crowley, please, please.”

Crowley paused for a moment and Aziraphale could feel that his entire body was trembling. He brought a hand up to Crowley's face and gently stroked his thumb over an angular cheekbone, his eyes shifting minutely as he looked into one of Crowley's glowing yellow eyes, then the other. “Crowley, are you all-” Aziraphale was interrupted by a knock at the door. One of Crowley's hands was atop his, his other clinging to Aziraphale's forearm. Crowley glared at the door, and then looked down at Aziraphale.

“AJ, are you in there?” It was Donna, who sounded distressed.

“Just a minute, love,” Crowley croaked out. He shook his head. Aziraphale bit his lip and made an expression Crowley had never seen before.

“You can't be serious,” the angel whispered.

“Well, I'm sorry, Angel,” Crowley said as he lifted his leg over Aziraphale to get off the bed, “but she's going through a rough time of it and-”

“Crowley, that's not what I meant,” Aziraphale said in a sharp whisper. “I just meant, the absurdity of it all.” He began giggling and threw a hand over his mouth.

“That's one way to say it.” Crowley sighed, leaned down to kiss Aziraphale, and then got up off the bed. Aziraphale caught sight of Crowley adjusting himself in his trousers as he walked to the door and felt yet another flush of heat washing over him. He normally didn't miracle clothing on or off his body, but today was an exception; the angel stood and quickly made himself look presentable with a wave of his hand.

Crowley opened the door; Donna had never looked so small.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asked, knowing full well she wasn't.

Donna nodded, sniffled loudly, then threw her arms around Crowley's neck. “No,” she said as she cried into Crowley's shoulders.

“Okay, okay, it's okay, come on in now,” Crowley met Aziraphale's eyes and gestured to the chair at the desk. Aziraphale turned the chair around and moved it a bit closer to the bed. “Just come in and sit down,” Crowley said, leading Donna to the chair. Aziraphale was standing at the ready with a box of tissues and the kind of comfort only an angel could offer.

“I knew it was going to be tough,” she said through tears, “but I didn't think, I don't know, I hoped-”

Aziraphale sat down on the bed and placed a hand on Donna's shoulder. “Were you hoping to remain friends with Peter?”

“Yes, that's it, that's exactly it.” Donna paused to blow her nose. “I didn't think he'd ask me to leave right away.”

Crowley dropped to one knee and put his hand on the armrest of the chair. “Did he hurt you?” he asked calmly, in a tone that chilled Aziraphale to the core.

“Oh no, no, AJ, no, goodness, no,” Donna clarified, picking up on the 'I will kill him' energy Crowley was putting off. “I went back to the apartment, he said if I was going to be there, he would leave, and, I knew you were here so I just came – oh god – I'm sorry,” she said, looking around, clocking the fresh flowers and chocolates sitting on the dresser, realizing there was only one bed in the room, “I've ruined your night, I'm so sorry, AJ, and Ezra, I'm so sorry.”

“Stop,” Crowley said, waving his hand.

“You haven't ruined our night at all,” said Aziraphale, who had shifted positions on the bed to try to keep his slick from soaking all the way through his pants and trousers onto the comforter.

“Are you sure?” Donna asked as she stood up. “I'll just – I'll go downstairs and get a room.”

“They're sold out for the night,” Crowley said. “Please, just stay here.” Donna tried to make her way to the door and tripped.

“Ouch!”

“Missy, you are too drunk to do anything but get in that bed and go to sleep.” Crowley walked Donna back to the bed and bent down to take off her shoes.

“I can sleep on the floor, let me sleep on the floor,” Donna pleaded, grabbing Crowley's hand.

Crowley crossed his arms. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Please,” Aziraphale said. “You can have the bed. I insist.”

“But,” Donna looked around the room. “Where are you two going to sleep?”

“Ahh...” Aziraphale trailed off. There was only a chair and a loveseat that was barely big enough for the two of them to sit.

“I'll call room service and have something sent up,” Crowley said, with enough confidence that Donna nodded and flopped back onto the bed.

“Yeah, okay, good night,” she said, tossing the covers over her and turning onto her side. Crowley turned off the overhead lights, then went to the loo and pushed the door open a bit so a thin sliver of light cut a line across the floor. He took his sunglasses off and saw Aziraphale staring at him.

“Where _are_ we going to sleep, Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley snapped his fingers and a cushy mattress complete with pillows and a comforter appeared on the floor against the wall. Thankfully, they'd ended up in a deluxe room that was a touch smaller than a suite; else the bed wouldn't have fit.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed. “How are you going to explain _that_?”

Crowley rolled his neck around. “I'll figure something out in the morning. It's late.” He removed his belt and kicked off his shoes. Aziraphale took off his waistcoat, shoes, belt, and bowtie, then climbed onto the bed in the spot closest to the wall. He was fluffing up his pillow when Crowley walked over to the bed. However, instead of climbing onto the mattress, he took a pillow and started walking towards the loveseat.

Aziraphale, still settling into the bed, gave him a confused look. “What are you doing?”

“I don't think it's quite big enough for the both of us.” Crowley's voice always sounded more serpentine when he was whispering. “It's okay, you take it.”

“Crowley, that's nonsense. Come here.” Crowley stood completely still, holding the pillow by its case. The forlorn, unsure expression on his face nearly undid Aziraphale as the angel remembered all the times Crowley had gotten him off while remaining fully clothed. During that entire extremely strange six month period of late night drunken hookups, they'd only done anything resembling cuddling once, and they'd never even so much as laid down together in Aziraphale's rarely used bed. “I said, come here,” Aziraphale repeated, patting the space next to him. Crowley frowned and groused a bit, but eventually complied, gingerly turning down the corner of the comforter and sliding underneath. He laid there stiffly until Aziraphale began running a finger over the sleeve of his shirt.

“Do you... normally sleep in your trousers with a polyester button-down shirt on?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley let out a huff of air. “No.”

“Then why don't you take it off and get a bit more comfortable?” Crowley flashed Aziraphale a startled look. “No, no, I don't mean it like that, my dear. I'm just asking if you'd like to, well, you're the one who sleeps more than I do, and you should be comfortable while you sleep, even if I'm here.” The angel watched Crowley's yellow eyes scanning his face, searching, always searching, for his intentions. Eventually Aziraphale slowly unbuttoned his own shirt and gently laid it at the foot of the bed. Crowley burrowed further under the covers, wiggled around a bit, and then his shirt and trousers appeared at the foot of the bed, already folded. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but kept staring at Crowley with a fond expression on his face. “That's cheating a bit, don't you think?” he whispered.

“It's _not_ cheating.” Crowley had the covers all the way up to his neck and was now facing away from him. Aziraphale, who was starting to view winning back Crowley's trust as the sort of lengthy battle worthy of a heavenly warrior, wiggled under the covers and placed a hand gently on Crowley's arm.

“Can I – is it okay if I...” Aziraphale trailed off, knowing he was asking for something but not entirely sure what. He slowly scooted a little closer to Crowley and let his hand wander down the length of Crowley's arm. Aziraphale's stomach was barely pressed against Crowley's back. “Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley held still for a moment, then pushed back a bit into Aziraphale and pulled the angel's arm over his chest.

“It's fine. It's good.” Then, after a pause, “You're warm.”

Aziraphale nestled his nose into Crowley's hair and took in the familiar, delicious, slightly spicy scent of him. “Are you going to be able to sleep like this, dear?”

“I might be able to sleep eventually. If you stop talking.”

“Okay, I'm sorry Crowley, I was only asking to, well, I want to make sure you're comfortable. There's no need to feel uncomfortable, you know, it's hardly the most awkward thing we've ever done.” That got a chuckle from Crowley, who slowly rolled over onto his back and blinked slowly before turning his yellow eyes to Aziraphale.

“You're right about that.”

“Can I... Crowley, can I touch you?” Aziraphale whispered as he began moving his hand off Crowley's arm and over towards his chest. Crowley nodded. Aziraphale had always thought Crowley was truly beautiful, and he'd long suspected Crowley's nude form would be remarkable; as usual, he was right. In all the time they'd known each other, Crowley had always been the more modest of the two, even though he was more comfortable switching up his presentation. The angel took in the sight of Crowley's torso, lean like the rest of him, the trail of auburn hair starting below his belly button, the angular hip bones visible just above Crowley's pants. Try as he might, Aziraphale couldn't stop a small breathless gasp from escaping his mouth.

“Goodness, why have you been hiding from me all this time, Crowley? You're utterly stunning,” Aziraphale said, running his hand down over Crowley's ribcage; the demon shivered under his touch and hid (again) by flipping over to face Aziraphale, throwing a leg over him, and dipping his head downwards. Aziraphale let his chin rest on Crowley's head for a moment, then spoke. “Are you still – are you all right, dear?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I just...”

“Is something wrong?”

Crowley sputtered out a few sounds before being able to speak. “Uhhh, well. We can't exactly continue what we were, um, you know. At least, not with Donna here.”

“Oh, of course not. It'd be undignified. And a bit... creepy, if I must say so,” Aziraphale said.

“Right. I'm sorry,” Crowley muttered.

“Don't be sorry! Are you not... enjoying yourself?”

Crowley pulled back to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I'm doing great, I just – I hope you're not too disappointed, Angel.”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said as he kissed Crowley on the forehead. “This is new, too, you know.”

Crowley wasn't sure he heard Aziraphale right. “What?”

“I said, this is new, too. We've never gotten to do this.” Aziraphale pressed his body as close to Crowley's as it would go, grateful that the type of Effort he was sporting tonight would conceal at least some of his arousal.

“Guess we haven't.”

“Try to get some rest, dear,” Aziraphale whispered into the shell of Crowley's ear. It wasn't long before Crowley's breathing fell into a slower rhythm and his limbs went slack. Well. The evening hadn't exactly gone the way he'd hoped, but it was a significant improvement over the past several months. Aziraphale sighed happily, held his demon close, and let his mind wander until the sunlight started to peek through the drapes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of my research came from this incredible article about the creation of "I Feel Love":  
> https://pitchfork.com/features/article/song-from-the-future-the-story-of-donna-summer-and-giorgio-moroders-i-feel-love/
> 
> More commentary:  
> https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2012/may/18/donna-summer-i-feel-love


	33. If You Want Super Satisfaction, I'm The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley enjoy some time in Munich before heading back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the new tags! Thank you! <3

Aziraphale rarely slept; he preferred to spend his time reading, but after a night holding Crowley in his arms, he felt he could be convinced to reconsider his stance on the matter. Around 7:30am, Donna stumbled out of bed and into the loo. The subsequent commotion woke Crowley, who briefly thought (based on his surroundings) that he’d been discorporated in the middle of the night and somehow sent back to Heaven. He was indeed, in a bed with Aziraphale, who had his warm arms around him and his lovely soft belly pressed up against his back. It was as close to Heaven as he cared to get. Crowley shifted over onto his side and stared at Aziraphale’s beatific, rosy face.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead. “Did you rest well?”

Crowley groaned and stretched out his legs. “Yeah, yep. Slept great. Really nice.” He scooted towards Aziraphale and tossed a possessive arm and leg over him. They heard the swish of the shower curtain being moved back and then the water starting to flow. Aziraphale broke out into a grin and gently laid a hand on Crowley's face, then kissed the demon passionately, if not a bit sloppily, brushing his lips against Crowley's, then taking one at a time in between his. Crowley responded with a sort of whimpering noise, then reaching up to run his fingers delicately through Aziraphale's mussed hair.

“So lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered into the demon's ear. Crowley stared into Aziraphale's blue eyes and felt as though he might drown in them.

“You,” Crowley croaked, relishing in the warmth of the angel's arms around him. They cuddled and took turns landing kisses on each other until they heard the shower stop.

“I hope you two are decent out there,” Donna said loudly, causing them both to dissolve into undignified giggles.

“Yeah, we're decent,” Crowley said, tossing on his sunglasses. Aziraphale was suddenly dressed in a floral robe, and the pattern alone sent Crowley into another fit of laughter. Donna emerged from the loo in a cloud of steam, wearing one of the hotel's plush bathrobes.

“AJ, Ezra, I have to apologize to you both. I am so sorry,” Donna said as she walked over and sat down on the bed. “You two were trying to have a romantic evening and I went and ruined it, and oh my god, I'm absolutely – I'm so sorry. I want to make it up to you.” She looked truly contrite.

“Donna, please don't feel badly,” Aziraphale said sincerely.

“It's fine. It's not a problem.” Crowley stood up from the mattress with his trousers miraculously on his body. He went over to the bed and put his arm around Donna. “It's really fine.”

“At least let me take you out tonight,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I'll take you out tonight and then you can come back to your room. By yourselves.”

Crowley let out a sigh and hoped he wasn't blushing too much. “All right. Whatever you want to do.”

“Sounds lovely,” Aziraphale added, internally panicking about his lack of wardrobe options for another evening out in a Munich disco. Donna gathered up her clothes and went back into the loo to change, emerging a few moments later looking stylish and rather hungover.

“Okay, you two. I'm gonna go see what's going on at my apartment.”

“Do you need us to go with you?” Crowley asked.

“No, no. It's going to be fine. A friend is meeting me there in an hour. I need coffee,” she said as she opened the door. “You know how to get a hold of me.” Crowley waved, and then Donna was on her way.

Aziraphale got onto the hotel bed and let his robe fall off one shoulder. Crowley sat next to him, but didn't touch the angel. “What about you, Angel?” he asked quietly. “What do you feel like doing today?”

“Umm...” Aziraphale was honestly hoping not to leave the hotel room, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it aloud in the light of day.

Crowley turned and kissed him, then let his hand linger on the angel's cheek. “Could I perhaps tempt you to... breakfast? Somewhere nice,” he added.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. He felt a tinge of disappointment at the fact that Crowley didn't immediately suggest fucking him into the mattress as the day's primary activity, but he also knew he still hadn't gotten much of a chance to have any sort of serious conversation with him. However, he felt at ease, desired, and overjoyed to spend so much uninterrupted time with Crowley. They were dressed and out the door ten minutes later.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale and Crowley spent a lazy day wandering the streets of Munich, stopping anytime they liked. It didn't seem right to sit Crowley down in the middle of a crowded city and demand to talk to him, so Aziraphale rolled with the flow of the day, content to place his hand in the crook of Crowley's arm as they walked slowly across the different neighborhoods. They had coffee, chocolate, lunch, and dinner; they took bread to the Englischer Garten and fed the ducks. As the sun started to fade, Aziraphale felt bolder, and took Crowley's hand, interlacing his soft fingers with the demon's bony ones. They made their way to dinner at a restaurant near Donna; from there, the plan was to stop by her flat and then the three of them would go out to another disco. Crowley led Aziraphale into a sleek, modern building, then up to the third floor. He paused in front of a door, then began fumbling around in his pocket.

“Aren't you going to knock?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley showed Aziraphale a key. “Nope. Had this for years.” He opened the door to Donna's flat, giving a louder than necessary courtesy knock as they walked in. “Hello? You in here?”

Crowley noticed that Donna's flat looked rather barren; apparently Peter had taken a lot with him when he moved out. There was only a sofa, a few chairs, and a small dining table left behind. Her records were in a few large stacks in the corner and the turntable was on the floor. The houseplants, tapestries, and paintings that had decorated the walls were all gone save a large framed poster of the astrological houses.

“Hi,” Donna said weakly. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that hung off one of her shoulders; there were bags under her eyes and she was moving rather slowly.

“How you feeling?” Crowley asked, striding across the room to give Donna a kiss on the cheek.

“Uggggh,” Donna said. “I'm okay. It's weird being here since, you know. And I've had this headache all day.” She flopped down on the sofa and threw a hand over her forehead. “Will you be disappointed if I take back what I said earlier?”

Crowley frowned. “What did you say? I forgot already.”

“I offered to take you both out dancing again tonight, to another club. Just don't think I have it in me.”

“Fine with me,” Crowley said. “Angel?”

“I... I can't say I have a preference in the matter,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Oh! I just had an idea.” Donna sat up. “What if we stay in? Maybe something like, just having a few friends over and... maybe you could spin for us, AJ?”

Crowley's eyes went quickly to Donna's fairly substantial record collection; he saw at least a dozen of his favorite albums in there, as well as a decent selection of modern and older music he knew. “Mmm, I mean, sure. Yeah, I could do that,” he said.

“Ezra? Your thoughts?” Donna asked Aziraphale, who looked unusually anxious. Crowley crossed his arms and looked at Aziraphale.

“Oh, I – I am so enjoying the company, Donna, really. It's just that – well, this is a touch embarrassing – but, I haven't got a  _thing_ to wear,” Aziraphale fretted. Crowley quickly covered his mouth to suppress the smile forming there.

“Come with me,” Donna said. He followed her down the hallway to one of the flat's bedrooms. She flung open her closet and rummaged around in it until she found a flowy white garment. “Here. It'll fit over your clothes if you want to try it on.”

“How do I...?” Aziraphale asked. Donna placed the garment over Aziraphale's head and guided his arms through the wide holes on the sides. Then she gently pushed the angel over in front of a large mirror that stood in the corner of the room.

Aziraphale's eyes sparkled as he took in the sight of himself in what resembled a toga. “Ohh!” he exclaimed. Donna smiled, then reached in front of Aziraphale to tie a golden sequined sash around his waist.

“What do you think?”

Aziraphale smoothed down the fabric, then turned to either side to check himself out. “It's lovely!”

“I think so too,” Donna said.

“Thank you so much, really,” Aziraphale said. He combed through his hair a few times with his fingers, and then they went back out into the living room, where Crowley was sitting cross-legged on the floor going through Donna's record collection.

“What do you think, AJ?” Donna said, holding out her arms and gesturing for Aziraphale to spin around.

Crowley broke out into a grin. “I think it quite suits you, Angel.”

Aziraphale, genuinely flabbergasted by the affection Crowley was bestowing so freely upon him, tilted his chin down to try to hide his flushing cheeks. “Thank you, Cr- AJ, dear. I'll go change properly, then.” Donna shot Crowley a saucy look that was nowhere near subtle, and Crowley allowed himself to enjoy it as he began stacking records in piles, assembling an outline of a set list from Donna's fairly large record collection.

* * *

 

Three hours later, there were about a dozen people in Donna's flat, and Crowley had been playing music for an hour or so. It was an informal gathering that felt a bit like DJing on Radio Invicta. He had his next album ready to go; judging by the wear on the jacket, it seemed like Donna listened to this one a lot. Crowley had always liked this record. He'd picked up his first copy in America several years ago. It was odd to have the moments of quiet between songs, but as Donna only had one turntable, that was how it had to be.

_Hey, what's happening?_

The chattering intro gave way to soft rhythm guitar and an unmistakeable voice:

 _Mother, mother,_  
_there's far too many of you crying_  
_Brother, brother, brother_  
_there's far too many of you dying_  
_You know, we've got to find a way_  
_To bring some lovin' here today, hey_

Donna stood up from the sofa and began twirling around the living room, fingers pointing up in the air to emphasize important words, completely losing herself in the music. Crowley smiled to himself. This was just as good as seeing a room full of people dance. She made eye contact with Crowley and dramatically danced over to the corner where he was sorting through records.

“ _Talk to me, so you can see, oh, what’s going on, what’s going on,_ ” Donna sang along. “Oh, AJ, this is my favorite song of all time.”

“You, my dear, have always had impeccable taste,” Crowley said. At Donna’s request, he let the record play and took a break to enjoy a glass of wine with her, Aziraphale, and two of Donna’s friends from her theatre days. Crowley was so engrossed in watching Aziraphale laugh and talk, he didn't even notice that it was Donna who got up to flip the record to the second side. It all felt so normal, so human, that it made Crowley's chest ache a little. He'd often wondered what it would be like to be human; the loss of powers and the whole sickness and dying thing didn't seem great, but the idea of being free from the bounds of Hell? Now that was something intriguing.

 _Make me wanna holler_  
_the way they do my life_  
_Make me wanna holler_  
_the way they do my life_

Crowley recognized the end of the record and excused himself to put something else on. He was moving a few records from one pile to another when a single fell out. The demon smiled when he realized what it was; sometimes, but not often, he believed in luck. Crowley adjusted the speed of the turntable for the single and put the needle down. The sweeping noises of a drum machine and gentle electric piano washed over the room; Crowley put a few records back in their jackets and lost himself in one of his favorite songs of the past few years.

 _The kind of love, love that is lasting_  
_hey, you can have it, if you want it_  
_if you want it, you can keep it, hey, baby_

Crowley was trying to figure out what song to play next when he looked up and noticed Aziraphale staring at him from across the room. He was feeling a bit more relaxed after a few drinks, and confident from the little touches and glances Aziraphale had been lavishing on him all day. Crowley waved Aziraphale over; he looked a lot more angelic than usual, what with the white toga and all. Aziraphale seemed to glide across the room in slow motion and finally was close enough for Crowley to reach out and put a slender arm around his waist.

 _Call me, call me, your anything man_  
_I'll do anything you want me to,_  
_just call me, call me, your anything man_  
_(I'll be what you want, I'll be what you need)_

“You having a good time?” Crowley asked, shaking his shoulders back and forth to the music.

“Quite a good time,” Aziraphale said.

“Good. That’s. That’s good.” They stared at each other for a beat, then Crowley wrapped his other arm around Aziraphale, encircling the angel so that their bodies touched. “Dance with me,” Crowley said.

“I’d love to.” Aziraphale brought his arms up to rest around Crowley’s neck; he could see Crowley’s slit pupils even behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale was so excited to be so close to Crowley in public that he tripped over his own foot and stepped on Crowley’s toes. “Oh goodness, dear, I’m sorry. I haven’t danced with anyone in a very, very long time,” he said.

Crowley let out a hum and shifted his hands slightly so they were on Aziraphale’s sides, lightly gripping his hips. “It’s all right,” he said. “Follow me.”

Aziraphale had always been a bit envious of the time Crowley spent as a snake; he'd wanted to try out some time in another body for a long time. It was certainly within his powers, though Aziraphale couldn't imagine the reaction from Upstairs. He knew how to fly and often imagined his experience to be fairly similar to a large eagle or something. But Crowley, he really had the serpent thing down, and it showed most often when he was in motion. Crowley guided Aziraphale until the angel was finally moving in time with the beat.

 _I'll make you,  
__make you_   _the main attraction of my life_  
_yes, I will_  
_And every day_  
_there'll be something different_  
_and something nice, I ain't lying_

“There you go,” Crowley said. They were not so much dancing as they were swaying to the music, but it was lovely nonetheless. Crowley caught Donna watching them from across the room with a goofy grin on her face. He gave her a nod. Aziraphale moved closer, pressing his cheek against the demon’s and reveling in their closeness. He remembered the weight of Crowley's body atop him the night before and the way the demon had pinned him to the bed; he could feel himself getting wet, and could think of nothing else but continuing the previous evening's activities.

“I wonder, Crowley...” Aziraphale trailed off.

“Yeah?” Crowley stopped moving, waiting eagerly to hear the angel's unspoken request. Until very recently, Aziraphale had never noticed how readily Crowley gave him his full attention; the sincerity of it made something inside of him spill over.

“I'm a bit... tired.” Aziraphale saw Crowley's eyes narrow through his sunglasses. “Of being around other people,” he clarified, making Crowley blush to the tops of his ears.

“You wanna go, Angel?” Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley looked around; most of the crowd had left and it appeared Donna and one of her friends were reading astrological charts at the kitchen table. He let the song fade out to see if anyone noticed the lack of music. No one seemed to care. Crowley put single back in its sleeve and the lid back on the turntable, then walked over to the kitchen table and put his chin on Donna's shoulder.

“You all right if the DJ _absconds_ for the evening?” Crowley said dramatically.

Donna turned around with a mischievous look on her face. “I was _hoping_ you two would get the hell out of here soon! No offense, but...” she broke into laughter.

“It's been lovely to spend time with you too, darling.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat and Crowley and Donna turned around. “Thank you so much for having us over. I – uh – wondered if it might be okay for me to return this,” the angel said, lifting up the fabric of the toga, “tomorrow.”

“Keep it,” Donna said as she stood up from her chair. “It looks way better on you than it ever did on me.”

“Oh, really? Thank you,” Aziraphale said, smiling broadly. “Thank you so very much.”

“We're gonna head back to the hotel,” Crowley said, kissing Donna on the cheek. “Hope you had a good time tonight, missy.”

“It was lovely, perfect, beautiful, a hair of the dog is exactly what I needed,” Donna said as she put one arm around Crowley and one arm around Aziraphale. “You two have a wonderful night.” She kissed Aziraphale and then Crowley on the cheek and walked them to the door. Crowley held his hand out for Aziraphale, and the angel happily interlaced his fingers with the demon's as they made their way outside.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale held up his fingers. “Are you all right if I – um – get us back to the hotel a bit sooner?”

Crowley chuckled. “Whatever you want,” he said. A snap of the angel's fingers later, they were in front of the hotel. Aziraphale sighed in relief as Crowley opened the front door for him.

“Excuse me, sir, sir.” The hotel clerk, the same woman who had been working yesterday, rushed out from behind the counter to stop them. “You've been upgraded to a suite,” the clerk said, handing Crowley a key. “All your belongings have been placed in the new room. Please let us know if there is anything we missed.” She shot Crowley a knowing smile.

“Upgraded?” Crowley asked. “Are you sure?” She nodded, and Crowley turned and led Aziraphale to the elevator.

“Upgraded!” Aziraphale exclaimed once the door closed. “Is that shorthand for perhaps... a touch of demonic magic?” The angel shot Crowley a flirtatious look, complete with some eyelash batting, and Crowley's stomach flipped in anticipation of what might await him in his immediate future.

“Not me, Angel.” They exited the elevator hand in hand and walked down the hallway at a rapid pace. Crowley used the new key to open the door to the suite; it was indeed an upgrade. It was a corner suite with large windows facing out over two directions of the city. The carpet was a soft pink, the walls lilac with gold light fixtures and a crystal chandelier.

“Oh, Crowley! It's absolutely beautiful, don't you think?” Indeed, the suite was lovely, and so very _Aziraphale_ , Crowley couldn't help but smile. There was another lovely vase of pink, lavender, white, and soft yellow roses, along with a heavyweight envelope on the desk addressed to 'AJ'. Crowley set his sunglasses down and opened the envelope to reveal a brief note in Donna's familiar hand:

AJ! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ruin your romantic getaway!  
Enjoy a night on me... wink wink  
Love,  
Donna

Aziraphale came up behind Crowley and put his arms around the demon's slender waist. “Is this Donna's doing?”

“Guess so,” Crowley said, putting the envelope back on the desk and turning to face Aziraphale. “How are you feeling, Angel?”

“I’m - it’s been a lovely day,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Couldn’t agree more.” Crowley’s traitorous body began shaking despite his best efforts. Aziraphale felt the minute tremors coming off Crowley and took his hand.

“Won’t you come sit with me?” the angel asked, gesturing to the space next to him on the bed. Crowley perched on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff. “How are _you_ feeling?”

“I'm fine, yeah, I'm good,” Crowley muttered, staring down at the floor. The demon's earlier confidence, granted by the music, had given way to a low level anxiety that hummed around him in the silence.

“All right,” Aziraphale said slowly. Heavens, this was awkward. He'd never had to have a conversation like this with a lover; then again, he'd never loved anyone the way he loved Crowley. All the pent-up emotions started fluttering around inside his body again; Aziraphale brought a hand to rest on Crowley's cheek and cleared his throat. “Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?” he asked quietly.

“Sssssure,” Crowley said, his anxiety escaping in the form of a hiss. Aziraphale found it endearing; he leaned in and ever-so-gently slotted his lips against Crowley's, feeling the situation out slowly. Crowley slipped an arm around the angel and then let his hands come up to caress Aziraphale’s exposed neck. As the demon opened his mouth to allow Aziraphale access, he caught a hit of a familiar sweetness in the air and flicked his tongue out between his teeth. He let out a deep, satisfied hum as he took in the scent of Aziraphale's arousal. The angel looked down and Crowley watched the crimson flush creeping up over his neck.

“I – oh, Crowley, you've got me so worked up,” Aziraphale stammered.

“Oh, that’s... _Angel_ , you,” Crowley said, slinking off the bed to land to his knees; he rested his head on Aziraphale's thigh. “You smell,” Crowley's forked tongue again emerged from his mouth, “so delicious.”

“Would you care to, ah, continue where we left off last night?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sure.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, seemingly waiting for instruction. The angel lifted up his toga and guided Crowley's hand up between his legs. Crowley closed his eyes as his fingers touched Aziraphale’s soft, wet folds for the first time in months.

“Oh.” Aziraphale said, and his body moved under the contact, his hips scooting forward to allow Crowley to touch more of him. Crowley slowly slid his fingers up around Aziraphale’s clit and the angel clutched at his back. Crowley noticed it felt... different this time, somehow. He didn’t remember Aziraphale’s slick feeling quite this way. His hand was under the draped fabric and his face was just above it; the intoxicating aroma that was Aziraphale kept flooding Crowley’s nose, his mouth, even, and he was suddenly starving. Crowley wanted to taste Aziraphale, so he brought his hand out from under the angel’s toga. To his surprise, the slick that coated his hand that appeared to be illuminated, shimmering.

“Angel, you’re - I think - are you glowing?” Crowley asked, staring at Aziraphale’s glowing, viscous slick suspended between his fingers. Aziraphale gasped when he caught a glimpse of himself on Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, um, honestly, this has never - these bodies, they're so strange sometimes,” Aziraphale tittered. “It's not hurting you, is it?”

“No, it’s...” Crowley began swiveling his head and neck in minute movements while keeping his face turned towards Aziraphale. The angel watched as Crowley sized him up in a way that reminded him of a cobra before it struck its prey. The demon licked the slick off his fingers and Aziraphale watched as an unfamiliar expression crossed Crowley's face. “I'm hungry,” Crowley said, blinking slowly.

“Come again...?” Aziraphale squeezed his thighs together; if he wasn't dripping all over the bed by now, he surely was about to be.

“I'm _hungry_.” Crowley kept his eyes on Aziraphale until the angel was squirming under the intensity of it. Then he sank to his knees, running his hands and flicking his tongue over the smooth expanses of Aziraphale’s skin, moving agonizingly slowly towards the soft thicket of white hair at the junction of Aziraphale’s thighs. Finally, the angel felt Crowley's mouth on him as the demon started licking his outer folds, then dipping his tongue inside him.

“Ohh,” Aziraphale moaned, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter to keep himself from doing the same to the demon’s hair. Crowley continued giving him cautious but consistent attention and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale’s legs began quaking; the forks of Crowley’s tongue were working on either side of his clit, and he couldn’t hold back the cry of pleasure that came forth from him as though it was ripped from his throat as he came. Aziraphale was panting, his chest heaving, when Crowley pulled away from where he was pressed up against Aziraphale's cunt, strings of the angel’s light blue, shimmery, faintly glowing slick covering his face. “What? Am I doing it wrong? Do you not like it?” he asked frantically.

A breathless Aziraphale leaned up a touch further onto his elbows, “Heavens, no! I - It’s wonderful, it’s splendid.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Crowley put his nose in the crook of his elbow and wiped Aziraphale’s slick off his face in a long motion, sliding his face all the way from his elbow to the back of his hand. There was so much of Aziraphale on Crowley's face that the demon had to flip his hand over to get the other cheek even slightly dried off. Crowley then brought his damp fingers to his nose, inhaled, and moaned so deeply Aziraphale felt it vibrate through the mattress.

“Crowley, wait - what do you mean, are you 'doing it wrong'?” Aziraphale asked as he sat upright.

Crowley cocked his head to the side and frowned. “Well, I – I haven't -”

Aziraphale chastised himself internally for bringing it up. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean it... in a _negative_ way, Crowley.” He reached up to touch Crowley’s arm. “It just, it feels so very good and – um – you’re really telling me you’ve not done this before?”

“No,” Crowley said quietly. He started to say something but was distracted when he paused to lick his lips.

“Well, goodness,” Aziraphale panted. He took in the sight of Crowley on his knees before him, fully clothed, and felt a bit guilty. “Won't you get out of those clothes?” he asked in a playful yet gentle tone.

Crowley stood, rather, it was a motion more like unfurling, and began unbuttoning his black shirt. He removed his trousers, but not his pants, and with the same fluid movement, bent back down to where he’d been a moment ago, nestled between Aziraphale’s thighs.

“Did you want me to stop?” Crowley asked, left eyebrow cocked.

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying simply, “no.”

“All right then,” Crowley said as he dove tongue-first back into Aziraphale.

 

* * *

 

Crowley was distantly aware of the passing of time as he licked and sucked Aziraphale, occasionally pausing to make sure the rather vocal angel above him was still interested in allowing Crowley to keep his face between his thick, warm thighs. At some point, he gently took his fingers and worked them around the outer edges of Aziraphale's lips, then inside him. “This okay, Angel?” he asked, his forked tongue somehow continuing its fluttering motions over Aziraphale's clit even as he spoke.

“Yes, Crowley, yes, good heavens, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. Crowley slowly slipped a finger, then two, inside Aziraphale and felt the angel's silky, slick cunt clench around them. “Ahh!” Aziraphale cried out. Crowley went completely still.

“You sure that's all right?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale answered by scooting his body a bit closer to the edge of the bed and tightening himself around Crowley's fingers further.

“Yes, I will – ohh! - I promise you, I will tell you if I want you to stop.” Aziraphale was sweating; occasionally he would lose control, and his thighs would close in around Crowley's ears, giving the demon the sensation of being fully enveloped in the angel. Crowley loved it; he never wanted to leave this place. He kept count of the times Aziraphale tensed, shuddered, then cried out, and he watched with fascination as Aziraphale dripped and gushed onto his tongue and fingers over and over again.

“Oh, my dear boy, I’m – I’m, sweet _mercy,_ Crowley, my god, you’re,” Aziraphale panted as the waves of another orgasm began to creep up on him. He came again, moaning and thrashing against the pillow, as Crowley stroked two of his fingers up against the spongy spot that had earlier rendered Aziraphale unable to speak. The angel’s entire body went slack, and Crowley stilled the motion of his fingers without removing them. “Crowley, Crowley,” Aziraphale tried to sit up, but was too tired.

Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s thigh and peered up at him. “Are you all right, Angel?” he asked, the corners of his lips curving upwards into a predatory smile.

“Crowley, I’m more than all right, I -”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked away, and then back to Crowley. “Well. I - no,” he answered, slightly embarrassed.

Crowley showed his teeth and grinned in a way Aziraphale couldn’t recall seeing. “Then I won’t stop,” he said, shifting his weight back.

“Wait,” Aziraphale said, placing a hand on Crowley’s damp cheek, “But, dear, I haven't attended to your - are you also enjoying yourself?”

“Am I enjoying myself?” Crowley laughed and gave his tongue a little leeway; he made a show of licking Aziraphale's slick off his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose. "You tell me, Angel.” Aziraphale saw the hunger in Crowley's eyes and felt a shiver running all the way up his spine.

“Goodness, Crowley, I-” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley bowed his head and continued his ministrations in what felt like an act of worship.

* * *

 

Aziraphale was suspended between pleasures; he’d come so many times he had little concept of anything other than the rolling feeling of an orgasm coming on or fading out, like the circular motions of a wave crashing against the shore. He came again, his thighs quivering under Crowley’s grasp, and rolled his head to the side. The angel blinked as he noticed the sky through the window was now a faint shade of blue. Crowley was gently lapping at his slit, giving him time to recover; Aziraphale brushed his fingers through the demon’s copper hair, then brought his hands down to Crowley’s wet cheeks and gently urged him upwards.

“Come here, my dear,” Aziraphale said breathlessly. He tried to remember where the clock was and eventually spotted it. To his shock, it was well past 6am. Crowley slid onto the mattress next to him and wrapped his limbs around Aziraphale. The angel noticed the pads of Crowley’s right index and middle fingers were puckered and damp from having been inside him for hours. Crowley draped his body over Aziraphale's; his skin was sweaty, but cool to the touch, and as he gently stroked Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel could tell that Crowley was no longer trembling.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley's black pants; they were a lot more modest than he'd expected from the demon. Then he slowly, delicately pushed his fingers below the elastic of Crowley’s pants and let them wander downwards. He waited to feel something similar to his own current anatomy, but instead he only felt smooth, warm skin; the equivalent of a blank canvas. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Crowley?”

“Angel-”

“Is this not what you wanted? Have I-” Aziraphale felt panic rising in his throat.

“Aziraphale...”

“Have I gone and, oh goodness, please tell me I haven’t -” Aziraphale tried to get up, but before he could, Crowley had straddled him and pinned his hands to the mattress.

“Wait just a bloody minute.” Crowley brought his face closer and grazed the sharp edge of his chin against Aziraphale’s jaw. “As you may recall, I’ve had my face covered in your... you know, for the better part of the past eight hours, so give me a moment here.”

Once Aziraphale stopped trying to wiggle out of Crowley’s grasp, he caught a whiff of his own scent on the side of the demon’s cheek and felt himself turning to liquid all over again.

“What is it you're so worried about?” Crowley asked, his yellow eyes unblinking.

“Are you not interested in, you know.” Aziraphale looked meaningfully down Crowley's body, only to be met with a blank stare. “Are you not interested in allowing me to... return the many favors?” he asked.

Crowley shifted his weight back and cut his eyes away from Aziraphale. “It’s not that,” he said.

“All right, well. Will you come here?” Aziraphale held out his arms. Crowley placed his hands on either side of Aziraphale's torso and lowered his body down. He laid there for a while, relishing in the angel's sweet vanilla-old books-ozone-rose scent and the soft movements of his chest up and down, up and down. Crowley wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't manifested an Effort; he was feeling a lot more confident than normal, he knew for a fact he was making Aziraphale feel good.

“I'm just not...” Crowley began muttering into Aziraphale's shoulder, “I want to-”

“Is there something else you – would you like me to try something new or different, or...?” Aziraphale asked.

“No,” Crowley said quickly, “I just want to... I don't know how to explain it.” He didn't; he only knew that he wanted to spend his time paying attention to Aziraphale, giving him this; that the rush he felt as he'd swooped in and rescued Aziraphale from danger hundreds of times over the years was the same as when a few consecutive passes of his tongue over Aziraphale's clit left the angel shaking, gasping, and crying out in pleasure.

Crowley rolled over onto his back. “Because it... it feels good, I like it.” Aziraphale stared up at the ceiling, allowing Crowley the space for his thoughts to emerge. “It's...” Crowley sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. “Don't think I can explain it really,” he lamented. “It's just... I just want to do this for you.”

Aziraphale didn't quite understand, but Crowley was being honest with him, and he was grateful for that. “All right, dear, if that's what you want,” he said in a soothing voice he reserved for occasions like these. He certainly didn't want Crowley to feel self-conscious if this was all he wanted to do, but it sure seemed like Aziraphale was the one reaping the benefits of the arrangement.

“Is that – I mean. I want to do this, do these – I want to do these things for you if you want me to do it,” Crowley clarified.

“Oh well, yes, yes,” Aziraphale said, “I absolutely want you to do it.” He locked eyes with Crowley and nearly melted under the intensity of it.

“So uh, are you saying it’s okay for me to get back to it, then?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said breathily. Crowley pushed up, presumably to scoot down the bed, but Aziraphale placed a firm hand on his hip and stopped him from moving further.

“Wait. Won’t you-” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and guided it between his legs, then began kissing Crowley, tasting himself all over the demon's face, “-stay like this. With me.”

“Happy to,” Crowley breathed out as he slowly curled his fingers upwards.

 

* * *

 

The next day and night went by in a blur; eventually it was Aziraphale who insisted they leave the hotel room, at least early enough to grab a spot of lunch before flying home. Donna joined them at another one of her favorite places, and accompanied them back to the private plane which would take them to London.

“It's been lovely having you here,” Donna said as she gave Crowley a warm hug.

“Of course. Thank you for the hotel,” Crowley whispered into her ear. Donna nudged him in the ribs. “Ouch!”

“You need to eat more,” she said, pulling away to give Aziraphale a hug. “Try to feed him something, will you?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, my dear, I've been trying to feed him for a few... for many years.” Donna laughed and waved them off as they walked up the stairs into the jet.

The flight took off without a hitch, and the attendant quickly figured out that Aziraphale and Crowley would rather enjoy being left alone; she set a carafe of tea in front of them, then returned to the front of the plane and pulled the curtain closed behind her. It wouldn't be long before they were back in London, back to their own routines, and while Crowley knew a major change had taken place, he still wasn't quite sure what would happen between the two of them once they were home. He decided to make the most of the end of their holiday and flipped up the armrest between their seats. Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale's knee and kissed him while wrapping his other arm around the angel. Aziraphale turned towards him and let out a small murmuring sound that sent a jolt through Crowley's body. He then placed kisses down the side of Crowley's jaw, over the mark on his face, behind his ear, and along his neck before coming to a still with his face pressed in against Crowley's collarbone, breathing in every bit of him that he could.

“Don't think we've ever spent so much time together.” Crowley tapped his fingers in varying rhythms along the outside of Aziraphale's arm.

“Hmm. Over the years we've spent quite a lot of time together, it would probably add up to quite a few years or, goodness, it has to be decades at this point, don't you think?” Aziraphale babbled, missing what Crowley was trying to say.

“I meant, together, you know, like this,” Crowley said quietly, pressing a kiss into Aziraphale's fluffy hair.

“Oh, oh, yes,” Aziraphale said; a rush of fluid threatened to escape him as he felt Crowley's laugh vibrating against him, “together like this, you're right. It's quite lovely, Crowley, it really is.” Aziraphale hoped this would be just the start of many hours, days, even years spent together, like this.

“Yeah. It is. It's good,” Crowley said into Aziraphale's hair. “Really good.” The angel snuggled up even closer next to Crowley and stayed there for the remainder of the flight.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale hadn't experienced a drop quite like the one he felt at the moment; their few days in Munich had been almost everything he'd dared to dream of experiencing with Crowley. And since things had gone so well during their time away, the angel felt fairly confident that some more of his 'dreams' might be close to coming true. He gave himself a small internal pat on the back for talking with Crowley a bit; they hadn't quite figured everything out yet, but perhaps it was to be expected.

Once they were on the road, Crowley reached over and held Aziraphale's hand, letting the Bentley do most of the driving. Still, Aziraphale's nerves were a wreck. At one point, he thought he might have to ask Crowley to stop the car. Aziraphale did his best to keep it to himself, but the closer they got to the bookshop, the more uneasy he felt. The angel couldn't quite describe _what_ he was feeling, but the pressure and static kept building and building, to the point where Crowley finally noticed.

“Angel? Are you all right?”

Aziraphale loosened his bow tie and shifted in his seat. “I'm honestly not sure, dear, I have a bad feeling and I can't quite place it.”

Crowley pulled the car over and lowered his sunglasses. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know, Crowley, the closer we get to the bookshop – oh...” Aziraphale finally recognized the feeling and his stomach lurched.

“What is it, Aziraphale?”

“I hope I'm wrong, but I'm afraid someone from,” Aziraphale pointed upwards, “you know where might be paying me a visit. It feels... it feels like that might be what's happening.”

The nervous pit in the center of Crowley's stomach expanded. “I'm going home, and I will stay there until I hear from you. You – Aziraphale,” he said the angel's name more sternly than normal, and Aziraphale stopped his fussing and looked Crowley in the eyes. “You _call_ me if anything goes wrong. Aziraphale, please. Okay?”

“All right, Crowley. I will,” he said. Their eyes met, and Aziraphale leaned over and kissed Crowley deeply before getting out of the car. He turned and started walking away quickly so he didn't have to watch Crowley drive off. Aziraphale was about a twenty minute walk from the bookshop, and he grew more anxious with every passing step. As he walked down the last few streets, he took a moment and forced himself to remain calm. Whatever was coming, it would do him no good to be in such a panic. He took a brief detour to see if William was around, but the flower shop was already closed for the day. Finally, he climbed up the stairs and let himself into the bookshop. He wandered around the shop floor for a few minutes, and was a bit surprised to find it empty; Gabriel, Michael, even Sandalphon had let themselves in without permission before. However, his relief was short-lived. Just as Aziraphale set his suitcase on the bottom stair, the door flung open and in walked the violet-eyed Archangel.

“A _zir_ aphale,” Gabriel said, holding out his hands. “How _are_ you?”

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale plastered a fake smile on his face and held his hands behind his back so Gabriel couldn't see him fidgeting anxiously. “I'm well.” The Archangel walked across the room until he was a few feet away from Aziraphale.

“I see you were recently out of town,” Gabriel said, gesturing to Aziraphale's suitcase.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Just a little, a short weekend holiday,” Aziraphale said.

“How nice. Were you going... to let anyone know about it?” Gabriel asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Aziraphale raised a manicured eyebrow. “I wasn't aware I needed to ask permission to travel as I have for thousands of years now.” Gabriel didn't respond immediately, and for a moment, Aziraphale was truly afraid he'd overstepped. Just as he was about to backtrack his statement, Gabriel burst into laughter.

“Oh, I think I nearly got you there,” Gabriel said, elbowing Aziraphale in the side. “Is it all right if I sit down?”

“Please,” Aziraphale said.

Gabriel sat on the sofa and pulled out a clipboard. “We need to talk.”

Aziraphale sat on his chair and laced his fingers in front of his stomach, holding them in place, attempting to calm himself. “All right.”

“What do you know about this,” Gabriel paused and brought his fingers up for air quotes, “'disco' phenomenon?”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale really needed to be sure he'd heard that correctly.

Gabriel flipped through his notes. “My notes say it's called 'disco'? Have you heard anything about it?”

Aziraphale, completely unaware of where the conversation was going, decided to tell some of the truth, but not the whole truth. “Well, I believe it involves... music,” he said slowly.

Gabriel furiously scribbled on his clipboard. “All right.” He looked up at Aziraphale with his cold violet eyes.

“And, well, I've heard some of it myself,” Aziraphale continued cautiously.

“And?”

“And... it's nice? It... seems like it's popular?”

“Hmm.” Gabriel wrote a few notes down on the clipboard, then stood up. “Great. Thank you, A _zir_ aphale, for your time, and for the information. I'll keep you apprised of any developments concerning this new assignment.” He began walking briskly to the door.

Aziraphale stood and followed Gabriel. “New assignment?”

“It's not formalized yet, as soon as I know, I'll let you know,” Gabriel called out over his shoulder.

“What in the _Heavens_ was all that about?” Aziraphale muttered to himself. He rolled his eyes as he quickly walked to the phone. Maybe Crowley would have some insight on the matter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to end this on a cliffhanger with the dreaded "we need to talk" but I'm working like seven days in a row so I decided not to do that to anyone, or myself. LOL. Thanks to everyone for reading and following along.


	34. You'll Never Be In Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up after Aziraphale & Crowley's trip to Munich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I apologize for the long delay. I was working an event where I had to be away from home and while that happened, I got really sick with food poisoning :( :( :( and I just could not write, I spent about a week not being able to hold down food and ended up in the doctor's and all that. My brain just did not work. Anyways, this chapter is a continuation of our plot, thanks to everyone for continuing to follow along and again I apologize for the delay.

Tuesday 24 May 1977  
Mayfair, London

Crowley made it into his flat and had just set his bag down on the sofa when the phone rang.

“Yeah, hello?”

“Crowley, it's me,” Aziraphale said.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I think so. Not entirely sure what just happened, but, there was no – ah – no reprimands or punishments or... anything like that.”

Crowley bit his lip. “What happened, Angel?”

“Well, it was, um. Perhaps we shouldn't talk about it on the phone,” Aziraphale said.

So this was probably it, Crowley thought. They'd gone and had a wonderful time, and now Aziraphale's side had found out, and Aziraphale would ask to meet up with him, because he needed to talk to Crowley, and he'd be quite sorry, he would, but it was all about to be over. “Right. Of course. I'll let you go then.”

“Crowley, wait. Are you – are you occupied at the moment?”

“No.”

“Can you meet me at the alternate rendezvous?”

“Which one?”

“Our spot in Hyde Park.”

Crowley coughed, trying to shake loose something in his chest that wouldn't budge. “When?”

“Can you be there in a half hour?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sure.” Crowley set the phone down and stared blankly out the window for a while before working up the courage to leave the flat.

* * *

Serpentine Lake  
London

Aziraphale was walking back and forth in the same square foot on the bridge for a good twenty minutes before Crowley arrived. He was starting to worry in earnest when he saw Crowley approaching in an angry mess of triangles and lines; the demon was scowling and jamming his hands in his pockets so his elbows flapped along like skinny, featherless wings as he walked along the bridge.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, smiling the same smile he always smiled when he said Crowley's name.

“Here I am,” Crowley said flatly. God, he hoped Aziraphale at least had the decency to end it quickly so he could get back to his flat and on with his life.

“As I suspected, Gabriel came to the shop right as I arrived-” Aziraphale looked at Crowley and noticed the lines of worry etched on his face, his clenched jaw, “-Crowley, dear, Crowley – are you all right?” he asked, moving closer to the demon and placing a hand on his arm.

“I'm fine.”

“Well, you don't look fine,” Aziraphale blurted out.

“Whatever you've got to say to me, Angel, get on with it,” Crowley said flatly.

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, shocked by Crowley's sudden change of demeanor. He was ready to snap at the demon until he felt the minute tremors coming off Crowley's arm under his fingers. Then it hit him; Crowley was _scared_ , of what, Aziraphale didn't know.

“Oh, oh,” he said, as the understanding dawned on him, “Crowley, I'm sorry if I gave you a scare, I was a bit anxious myself, but there's nothing to worry about. At least there seems to be nothing to worry about at the moment, I – well, it didn't – it seemed as though it might be best if we spoke in person is all.”

“Okay,” Crowley said, still looking out over the Serpentine Lake and not at Aziraphale.

“Gabriel came by the shop and began asking me questions about... disco.”

That got Crowley's attention. “He what?”

“He came to the shop, he asked me if I'd heard of disco, I said I had heard a little bit of it, and then that was it. He was off a moment later.”

“Is that all?” Crowley's hands were on his hips now, not shaking quite as much, Aziraphale noticed.

“Yes, that's all, dear, I just – I thought it might be safer to, oh, wait. He said something about me getting a new assignment,” Aziraphale said.

“Hmm.”

“Nothing more than that, he said he'd tell me after it was formalized. Whatever that means.”

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. The angel looked concerned, but not scared, and it appeared most of the concern was directed at... him, actually. “Huh. Well. Seems sort of odd,” Crowley muttered.

“Yes, I thought so too.” Aziraphale said. The conversation stilled for a few minutes as they looked out over the Serpentine Lake. It was Aziraphale who broke the silence. “Crowley, I am quite sorry if I gave you cause to worry,” he said, reaching out to close the distance between them by worming his hand between Crowley's elbow and torso, bringing it to rest in the crook of Crowley's skinny arm. They stood like that for a while until Crowley shifted and slowly brought his arm around Aziraphale's hips.

“I was. Worried, that is,” Crowley muttered.

“I'm so sorry, really I am,” Aziraphale said contritely. “Oh, I know! Perhaps we should come up with a code.”

“A code?”

“So this doesn't happen in the future. There should be a word, a phrase, or maybe even several, that we can say to each other. I could have said the word, I don't know – cherry cordial, to you, and you would have known that I needed to talk with you in person, but that it was nothing serious.”

Crowley nodded, still tight-lipped. “Yeah. Not a bad idea, actually.”

“Ah, I meant to ask. Has your side inquired about any of your work in the music industry?”

“No,” Crowley said, and he got a feeling it might be coming up soon. “They haven't. Haven't been down there in a while.”

“Interesting indeed.”

“Yep.” Crowley glanced over the tops of his sunglasses at Aziraphale.

“Well, here we are,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah.” Crowley was still a bit twitchy, but less anxious.

“Would you care to join me for dinner?”

Crowley tilted his head in a way that reminded Aziraphale of the past few days he'd spent kneeling between the angel's thighs. “Angel, do you think that's a good idea? What with, you know. Random visits and what not.”

“I don't see why not.” Aziraphale's eyes looked bigger, rounder, more pleading than normal.

Crowley, who had never been able to refuse Aziraphale a thing, decided he couldn't very well start now. “Where do you want to go?”

Aziraphale perked up instantly. “What if we went to the Italian place near the shop?” Crowley agreed with a mumble, and they set off across the bridge in a familiar lockstep.

* * *

Thursday 2 June 1977  
Soho, London

Crowley was sauntering through Soho, making his way over to his office to catch up on some work. He hadn't checked his mail since he and Aziraphale had come back from Munich, and he was certain there would be a stack of records a mile high waiting for him. Maybe there would be some good stuff in there, maybe someone had left a message for him about a new project. As Crowley took a turn to his left, he smelled a familiar smell of burning sulfur and froze. Perhaps this was it. His side had figured out what was happening and had come to collect their dues, or dish out some punishment. He was aware of a presence behind him and turned around, expecting Beelzebub, or Ligur, or maybe even Dagon to be standing before him. Crowley was surprised to see Hastur, who was wearing a pair of red polyester bell bottoms and a black button-down shirt with flames embroidered on the sides. Inexplicably, the demon now had a shaggy mullet haircut and a giant blonde mustache. Crowley couldn't hide his confusion.

“What in the blessed _heavens_ are you wearing?” Crowley asked, gesturing to Hastur's clothing.

“Hello, Crawly,” Hastur said, with an unsettling smile on his face.

“Hi, yeah, hello. What are you doing up here?”

“What do you think?” Hastur turned around in a circle, ostensibly for Crowley to look at his outfit.

“Looks, uh... great, yeah. Very, hmm, very flash,” Crowley said. He clapped his hands together a few times.

“That means a lot coming from you! Is it true what they're saying?” Hastur asked.

“What who's saying?”

“You've been getting up to a lot of trouble up here lately, haven't you?” Hastur winked at Crowley conspiratorially.

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets and slinked around in a half circle. “Yeah, well. That's the job, you know.” What was that supposed to mean? Did 'a lot of trouble' mean 'we know you've been fucking an angel'?

Hastur's solid black eyes began to sparkle, well, as much as a pair of solid black eyes could. “That is the job. And you've, well. You've really done it well. Some might say you’ve done it the best.”

“It's nothing, you know. Just got sent up here to make trouble so, that's what I've been doing,” Crowley mumbled.

“So I've heard.” Hastur stared at Crowley for a beat and then burst into laughter. “You, Crawly, are quite the creative.” Crowley laughed along with Hastur for a while, then Hastur gave him the most awkward double thumbs-up he'd ever seen and disappeared in a cloud of ink-black smoke. Crowley rolled his eyes and continued down the street to his office.

* * *

Thursday 9 June 1977  
Radio Invicta  
undisclosed location, London

Crowley stumbled through the door of Roger's flat with a crate full of new records that had been sent to him at his office, only to find a stack of record-shaped mail addressed to him on the table. Somehow, people were still sending records here, despite his constant insistences that they not. Crowley sighed. He truly loved records and his work in the industry, he did, but sometimes he wondered if it was getting a bit out of hand. He was about to start opening his mail when he heard a door open from the far end of the hallway.

“I see they’re still sending you stuff here.” Roger padded into the living room with a mug in his hand.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Crowley said, tearing the first of many manila envelopes in two.

“Ah, it’s fine, AJ. As long as it’s all right for me to listen to some of them every now and again.”

“Anything you want, seriously, you ought to just keep some. I’m just about out of room.” Crowley had torn through a half dozen envelopes and was making a decent mess on the floor. “I promise I’ll clean this up,” he said as Roger walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, I know you will. You want anything to drink?” Roger called out.

“Whatever you’re having,” Crowley said. He looked at the clock; it was five till nine. Time to figure out the first few songs. He was still lost in an overwhelming flood of emotions from the weekend in Munich and the events that had happened upon his return. Crowley reached for a familiar album that had gotten him through a lot; he could play the newer music later in the night, as that was when listenership tended to be higher. He fired up the broadcasting equipment, sat down at the table, and brought the microphone close to his face.

“Good evening, you're listening to the home of Soul Over London, yes, that's right, this is 92.4, Radio Invicta. And I'm your guardian of the groove, AJ Crowley. Tonight, I'm going to kick things off with one of my old favorites. This is Sly and the Family Stone.” A spartan bass line began over a soft drum machine, 'ooh's and 'yeah's coming in shortly thereafter.

_If you want me to stay_  
_I'll be around today_  
_To be available for you to see_  
_I'm about to go_  
_and then you'll know_  
_for me to stay here, I've got to be me_

Crowley bobbed his head to the music and slouched back down in his chair. He was still rather embarrassed by how he’d overreacted to Aziraphale’s request to speak about an important issue in person rather than over the phone. How stupid he'd been. One little miscommunication and he'd assumed the worst. Crowley had fully expected Aziraphale to call it off that day; perhaps he was still, on some level, expecting Aziraphale to decide out of the blue that he was either tired of this, or too scared, or just unwilling to be with him. As much as Crowley had enjoyed their time in Munich, as much as Crowley had felt he'd finally gotten through to Aziraphale about what he truly wanted, he still wasn't sure it was going to last. Crowley kicked his feet up on the table and stared out the window. Did they truly have a chance at outwitting both Heaven and Hell? He sighed. Maybe it would be best to enjoy the moment as much as possible. Crowley thought about the time he'd spent licking and sucking and tasting Aziraphale and shrugged to himself. If he was going to get struck down and pulverized into nothingness by Hell or Heaven for consorting with the enemy... well, what a way to go. Aziraphale had invited him over tomorrow night; Crowley switched on the next record and let his mind ponder the possibilities as he flipped through the giant pile of albums he'd received. Just before the first chorus rolled around, the lights in Roger's flat flickered on and off, then went dark.

“What the fuck?” Crowley said. He stood and walked to the nook where the broadcasting equipment was, smashing his shin against a table leg in the process.

“Where you at, AJ?” Roger had a flashlight and the beam of light bounced around the living room until it landed on Crowley.

“What's all this about?”

“We lost power,” Roger said, in the matter of fact tone only an engineer would use.

“Yeah, mate, I gathered that, but what's it-”

“Oh, right, right. I'm not exactly sure what's happening. Third time this week.” The lights slowly came back up, and the broadcast equipment and record player started again.

_I want to stay with you for the rest of my life_  
_I want to lay with you for the rest of my life_

“Sorry about that, listeners, it appears we lost power for a minute there. I'm gonna start that one over for you,” Crowley said, reaching over and pulling the needle back to the beginning of the record.

“Weirdest thing,” Roger muttered. “It's only happened when we've been on air. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was the coppers trying to get one over on us!” He laughed, switched his flashlight off, and walked back down the hall to his room.

Crowley froze; Hastur had been in town wearing all that ridiculous clothing. Gabriel visited Aziraphale and asked about disco. What exactly did Hell know about disco? What did Heaven know? Crowley suspected both sides might know more than they were letting on. He chewed on the corner of his lip and sat down, crossing his ankle over his knee. If either side was getting more involved in this music movement, that would certainly make things interesting...

* * *

Friday 10 June 1977  
The Bookshop, Soho

Aziraphale still wasn't quite sure exactly what had happened between him and Crowley in Munich. In private, Crowley hadn't been acting too differently towards him since their weekend away. With the exception of the miscommunication about Gabriel’s visit, things had been flowing fairly smoothly between them. The angel hadn't expected Crowley to be terribly demonstrative in public, especially not immediately; they were, after all, still on opposite sides in the longest-running conflict in the known universe, and Lord knows they had supervisors who would be less than thrilled with the whole affair. Physically, Crowley was still quite enthusiastic about attending to Aziraphale’s needs, but he had yet to allow Aziraphale to return the favor, and it was starting to gnaw at him. Not that Aziraphale had any complaints in regard to Crowley's attentions; it was all the angel could do to not suggest that they simply close up the bookshop for a few weeks or so.

Crowley was set to come over in a half hour or so; Aziraphale went upstairs to put on some cologne and paused in front of the mirror. He ran his hands over his round tummy and frowned. He thought of the feel of Crowley's angular, slender body against his, of the way he'd seen people look at Crowley over the years, and despite his own desire for Crowley, he felt a bit insecure. He'd always had mixed feelings about his body; his softness was proof that he enjoyed being on earth, enjoying the many pleasures that could only be found here. Aziraphale hadn't ever had a problem finding lovers to appreciate his curves, his gentle valleys, his plushness, but what if Crowley didn't feel the same way? What if Crowley didn't truly desire him as he was?

The angel was about to do something he rarely did and conjure up some clothing for himself when he remembered a costume he'd worn about a hundred years ago for a Christmas event. Aziraphale gently pushed garments around in his closet until he found a Victorian era white damask garment, heavy and structural. The piece was made from upholstery fabric; Aziraphale had worn it to go do his Christmas Eve blessings many years ago and couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. (Which explained the three closets the angel had in the bookshop.) Aziraphale worked the dress on over his head and fastened it closed with a golden satin cord. He looked at himself in the mirror from the front, then the left, then the right, then over his shoulder. The dress reminded him of the toga Donna had given him; he liked the forgiving nature of the flowy fabric and the blending of the earthly and the ethereal. Aziraphale worked a bit of shimmer onto his face and then glided down the stairs, his train flowing out behind him. Maybe he just needed a bit of a confidence boost; he wasn't incredibly familiar with the fashions of the era, but from what he had seen at the disco in Munich, it seemed the current decade had a distinct “anything goes” vibe. Aziraphale had just finished setting out a few wine glasses and a bit of dark chocolate when he heard the door open and a familiar pair of Chelsea boots begin clicking across the floor.

Crowley was dressed down; he had his standard black pants on and a black t-shirt, accented with a golden snake necklace. He looked at Aziraphale, raised his eyebrows, and let out a low whistle.

“Good evening, my dear boy.” Aziraphale seemed to be flowing across the shop instead of walking. With a few fluid motions, he was next to Crowley, his delightful scent flooding the demon.

“You look lovely,” Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale on the cheek as he handed the angel a bottle of wine. Crowley rubbed his lips with his fingertips and peered at the shimmer left behind. “You got a bit of, uh, you got a bit of glowy stuff on you, yeah?”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “A bit of shimmer. Shall we?”

They walked over to the sofa; instead of their familiar spots from the past hundred or so years, they were now sitting next to one another on the sofa. Aziraphale shot Crowley a look as he adjusted his dress; it was a look that was intended to say 'put your arm around me,' and the angel was a bit disappointed when it didn't work immediately.

“So, ah, anything new to report?” Aziraphale asked as he leaned forward and poured two glasses of wine.

“Not really,” Crowley said, “I came home to two giant stacks of records.

“Ah, speaking of which, shall I put something on?”

“Sure, Angel.”

“Any preferences?”

“Whatever you like.”

Aziraphale shuffled over to his console and flipped through some records in an old wine crate until he found one and put it on the turntable. Crowley was surprised to hear a funky, riff heavy intro. The angel's taste in music typically didn't lean towards this genre, but perhaps he was branching out. Crowley thought he recognized the riff, but he wasn't entirely sure until the chorus hit. It was a Carol Douglas record, but not the one that he'd been playing on the air last night.

_Midnight love affair_  
_How can I make you stay?_  
_Midnight love affair_  
_How can I make you stay?_

“Where'd you get this, Angel?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale sat down on the sofa, delicately adjusting the fabric of his dress.

“I heard it on the, ah-” Aziraphale still hadn't actually told Crowley that he'd been listening to his radio show, “heard it in the record store a while back. I like her voice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, very... it's very soft and gentle,” Aziraphale said. Crowley hummed in agreement. There was a thin thread of something suspended in the air between them, awkwardness mixed with anticipation.

Crowley gulped down the last of his wine and coughed a bit as he remembered an important event from the past week, one worth sharing. “Oh. I forgot. _Hastur_ came to visit me the other day,” Crowley said, wiping wine off the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, what did he want?”

“He didn't seem to want anything. Just popped up to mention he knew I'd been getting up to a 'lot of trouble' lately,” Crowley said with exaggerated air quotes, “and if I didn't know better, I'd say he sounded impressed.”

Aziraphale leaned in closer to Crowley, close enough that the demon could breathe in the delightful smell of him simply by licking his lips. “What do you think all this is about, Crowley? Do you think it's about music?”

“Could very well be.” Crowley took a swig of his wine and noticed that Aziraphale had put a hand on his thigh. He caught a whiff of Aziraphale's scent and suddenly felt weak. He fumbled with his glass of wine, nearly spilling it before setting it down on the table. “Well, hello,” Crowley said, turning his head so he could kiss the angel. Aziraphale's hand slowly wandered upwards, so Crowley went ahead and manifested himself a cock; he wanted to be kissing Aziraphale, he wanted to be touching him, there was no sense in pretending he didn't, or making the angel feel awkward about his desires. As always, Aziraphale smelled like vanilla, rose, spun sugar, and a distinct element Crowley could only classify as angel; the demon cupped his hands all over Aziraphale's soft, perfectly groomed face, and the angel happily deepened the kiss, gently pushing his tongue over Crowley's lips, twisting against Crowley's forked tongue. Crowley let out a low moan and Aziraphale briefly opened his eyes to look down at the tent in Crowley's trousers.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said breathily, “I wonder if I could possibly convince you to allow me to return the many favors you've bestowed upon me recently.”

“Mmmrrtt, uhhh.” Crowley bit his lip and arched his body forward into the contact.

Aziraphale stilled and looked at Crowley pleadingly, then ran his fingers over the head of Crowley's cock through his trousers. It felt sublime, and he was achingly hard almost instantly; for a second, Crowley forgot all about his performance issues over the past few years. “Ssssure,” he hissed.

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said, like he had just been presented with a crème brulee, or a fruit tart, or some crème anglaise, or a piece of devil's food cake. He quickly worked Crowley's snakeskin belt off, and Crowley felt his cock exposed to the air before he could blink. Aziraphale gracefully kneeled before him and slipped the head of Crowley's cock into his mouth. Crowley looked at Aziraphale's fluttering eyelashes, his rosy cheeks, and his plump lips as he took the demon into his mouth. He had watched Aziraphale eat thousands of times over the years, but watching Aziraphale _eat_ like this was a completely overwhelming experience. The angel's eyes were closed, he was moaning quietly, and Crowley could feel every vibration against his skin. It wasn't long before he felt the coil of tension rising in his abdomen. With this sort of Effort, it was always a bit harder for him to hold back.

“Angel, I think I'm gonna-”

“Well, go on then,” Aziraphale said nonchalantly before popping Crowley's cock back in his mouth and swirling his tongue over the sensitive head like he was sucking a lolly. Aziraphale bobbed down once more to take all of Crowley into his warm, wet mouth, which sent the demon over the edge. Crowley cried out and clutched at Aziraphale's fluffy hair.

“Oh, oh,” Crowley yanked Aziraphale's hair a lot harder than he'd intended and came so hard his legs were twitching and his vision went grey and staticky around the edges.

“Well, that didn't take long.” Aziraphale pulled a handkerchief out from nowhere and dabbed delicately at the corners of his mouth. Crowley was going limp now, still hanging out of his unzipped trousers and pants; seeing the angel so prim and proper while he was recovering from a freight train of an orgasm undid him, and he felt his cock twitch a little at the thought of continuing the evening’s activities.

Aziraphale ran his hand through his hair and Crowley winced as he recalled how hard he'd pulled it just a moment ago. “You all right?” Crowley asked, gesturing to Aziraphale’s hair. “Went pretty hard there.”

“Not hard enough,” Aziraphale quipped, and Crowley momentarily lost his train of thought. The angel got back up on the couch and placed his hands on Crowley’s face, pressing kisses to his cheekbones, his eyelids. Crowley kept his eyes closed as Aziraphale lavished attention on him; he felt so good to be here, receiving affection like this.

“Went off so quick. Sort of embarrassing,” Crowley muttered. He tried to hide by burrowing his face into Aziraphale's arms.

“Dear, you must have been rather pent up,” Aziraphale said calmly. “You don't need to... wait so long. You can, you know. You can ask me for this. I like it, and... I want to.”

Crowley nodded and snaked a slender arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “Okay,” he said quietly. He shifted positions slightly so he could more fully drape himself over the angel's lap. Aziraphale ran his hand down between Crowley's shoulder blades and began gently massaging right where his wings would be if they were out, and Crowley was suddenly so comfortable that he didn't even notice his eyes closing. His last conscious thought was how Aziraphale was always so nice and warm.

Aziraphale knew the minute Crowley fell asleep; the demon's entire body went totally slack, and the weight of his head sank against him. He looked down at the copper hair spread out in a fan over his thighs and sighed. Why was Crowley still so hesitant to be touched, to allow him to reciprocate? It certainly wasn't because Crowley didn't care. Aziraphale frowned. 'You're going to have to let me in,' he thought as he continued gently rubbing Crowley's back. The first side of the album finished up, and the arm of the record player lifted up and returned to its position. Aziraphale used a minor miracle to bring himself the book he'd been reading so he didn't have to disturb Crowley. He turned the pages with his left hand and let his right hand continue gently touching and patting Crowley all night long.

* * *

Tuesday 14 June 1977  
The Bookshop

It was about an hour after the weekly meeting of the Gay Men's Book Club, and Aziraphale, Sanjay, Larry, William, and Jimmy were having wine in the bookshop, in what had become a weekly tradition. The current membership had stabilized at ten steady members, and everyone agreed it was probably good to keep it that size for a while. Aziraphale was trying to follow along with the conversation, but his mind was elsewhere. He and Crowley had only spoken once by phone since the demon had fallen asleep on him a few days ago, and the conversation hadn't lent itself to any depth. Aziraphale sighed.

“Ezra?” William gently tapped Aziraphale on the upper arm.

Aziraphale blinked and looked down at the glass of wine in his hand, then back at the expectant faces of his friends. “Yes?”

“You seem distracted,” Sanjay said.

“Ah, I'm terribly sorry. Would you care to repeat the question for me?” Aziraphale asked.

“We were asking about your trip to Munich,” William said.

“Oh, that. Yes. Well, it was quite nice.”

“It was 'quite nice'? That's all?” Jimmy asked.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “It was quite nice, I'm getting on well with his friend Donna-”

“His friend 'Donna,' also known as the most famous disco queen in the world,” Larry said as he crossed his legs.

“Yes, that's the one,” Aziraphale continued, with an edge of sass to his voice, “It's good we're getting on better now. It was a lovely trip and I think we sorted out quite a bit, actually.”

Sanjay cocked his head. “You sorted out quite a bit, but you still look worried.” There were a few 'yeah's that echoed his statement.

“Erm,” Aziraphale stood. “Would anyone like more wine while I'm up?”  
  
"Oh, no no no. That's not how this works," William said. "Don't try to change the subject."  
  
Aziraphale ignored William, went and got another bottle of wine, and then came back to four pairs of eyes boring into him.   
  
"What now?" Aziraphale asked.   
  
"Are you and AJ having problems?" Jimmy asked gently.   
  
"I'm not sure that I'd call them _problems_ per se, more just a few, you know, a few issues at the moment," Aziraphale was gesturing wildly with his hands and had to pause so he didn't slosh the last few sips of his wine over the edge of the glass.

“Weren't you two having some issues before though?” William asked. "In general?"

“Sort of, yes.” Aziraphale stared down into his near-empty glass as a silence fell over the room.

“Ohhhh-kay,” Sanjay said, dragging out the word, “Are you ever going to tell us exactly what's up with you two? It doesn't make any sense.”

“Come on. Tell us about it. We're your friends now, Ezra, whether you like it or not,” Larry quipped.

Aziraphale polished off his wine. Where to start? “Well, it's quite a long story between us-”

“Okay, okay,” Jimmy said, “We get that. You've said that every bloody time you've talked about him. But what does that mean?”

“We were...” Aziraphale paused, choosing his words carefully, “I think we have had some significant misunderstandings in the past few years.” He saw the blank looks on his friends faces and quickly clarified. “Specifically, I believe that he might have been – and this is just my theory – under the impression that what was happening between us until, uh, _very_ recently, was only... physical in nature. That it didn't mean anything else.”

“What?!” Larry exclaimed, accompanied by a chorus of groans from the three other men.

Sanjay held up his hand. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure?” Aziraphale said, dragging the word out, his voice raising in pitch towards the end.

“You mentioned something once about, sometime that AJ had a lot to drink and ended up, oh, I don't remember all the details exactly. This isn't helping,” Sanjay held up his wine, “which is my point, is that a habit for you and AJ?”

“Is what a habit?” Aziraphale asked. “Goodness, certainly you lot know how I love my wine,” he said, a bit more huffily than he intended.

“Do you two only...” Jimmy waved his hand back and forth in a gesture Aziraphale assumed was supposed to mean something sexual, “you know. When you're drunk.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond and got stuck on the realization that he and Crowley typically engaged in sexual activity when they were completely and utterly pissed, their recent trip to Munich being the notable exception.

“Oh my fucking god,” Larry groaned.

“I... don't quite understand,” Aziraphale said.

“No kidding,” Jimmy quipped.

“So, you were like, drunkenly getting together, and now you're not, and you're wondering why he might feel strange or awkward about it?” William asked. He then placed his head in his hands.

“Oh, _honey_ ,” Larry added. Aziraphale's eyes flitted from one man to the next, taking in everyone's facial expressions and emotions.

“You're gonna have to give him some time to get comfortable!” Sanjay exclaimed. “Poor man! He's completely besotted with you!”

“Head over heels,” William added.

“Well, and I feel the same, he's not alone in his feelings!” Aziraphale sputtered.

“Then you're going to have to tell him that,” Larry said as he grabbed his wine. “You know, using words. Put together. In a structure we call a 'sentence'.” Everyone except Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, Ezra, come now,” he added, patting Aziraphale on the arm. “I only want the best for the both of you!”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly. The conversation began to flow back to the usual subjects: William's shop expansion, the cat Jimmy's friend had found on the street, Sanjay's promotion, Larry's weekend adventures. Aziraphale focused primarily on keeping everyone well supplied with wine and ensuring no one had a hangover for work the next day. As everyone save Larry had an early morning ahead, the end of the evening came sooner rather than later. There were plenty of hugs and kisses on cheeks as the boys departed for the night, leaving Aziraphale alone with his books and his thoughts.

* * *

Friday 17 June 1977  
Soho

Crowley had been puttering around the office for a few hours; he was trying to open every piece of mail on his desk before heading out to meet Aziraphale for dinner. He gathered up a giant pile of torn envelopes and cardboard and was about to leave when the phone rang. Crowley hesitated for a moment before answering it; he had, after all, told Aziraphale about his office and given him the phone number a few days ago.

“Hello?”

“AJ, man, how the hell are you? Glad to finally catch you.” It was Freddie Perren.

“I'm good, I'm good, been really busy. How about you?”

“How's the project going?”

Freddie laughed. “You gotta be more specific!” I'm working on probably six or seven projects at once, in the middle of one right now where I've written all the songs with Dino. I'm losing my damn mind, AJ.”

“Man, sounds like you're just about drowning in work,” Crowley said.

“Yeah, it feels like it. It's gonna be good though, it's good to be busy.”

“Well, that's for sure. How's the movie, you got any updates on that?”

“I think it's gonna kill me, but it seems to be right on schedule.” Freddie let out a noise that Crowley had heard him make when stretching after a long session. “Got one last song to wrap up with a new artist and then my part of it should be done.”

“Sounds great,” Crowley said. “Just let me know if I can help you out.”

“Oh, I will. Don't worry. I'm gonna continue calling in those favors.”

“Pfffft,” Crowley sputtered. “It's hardly a favor. Always a pleasure to work with you. How's the family doing?”

“Everybody's good, yeah. Thanks for asking. Kids are getting big so fast.” Freddie paused. “This may be a bit premature, but, I'd love if you could consider coming to LA for the premiere of the movie, when it's time.”

Crowley was so touched by the question that it took him a moment to respond. “Yeah, Freddie, I'd love that. I'll make it happen.”

“All right! I promise to show you a good time. You ever been to a movie premiere?”

“Can't say that I have.”

Freddie chuckled. “Oh, you're gonna have a great time. I'll make sure of it. Have some people I'd like you to meet, too.”

“I'm looking forward to it it. You got any idea when it's coming out?”

“Hmm... last I heard they said November, but, every time I've heard anything about a movie it's always taken longer than they've said, you know.”

“Sort of works that way in our business, too,” Crowley quipped.

“It sure does. Well, listen. I'm getting ready to head into a session, just thought I'd try to catch you before it got too late over there.”

“All right, man, well, I'm sure glad you caught me,” Crowley said.

“Me too, I'll let you know if anything work-wise comes up between now and then. You take care.”

“Don't work too hard!” Crowley heard Freddie laugh before the line went silent. He stood up and stacked all the trash neatly on the desk. Cleaning up the office could wait until next week; he needed to leave now or he'd be late. Crowley snapped his fingers to turn off the lights and walked out of the office, then down to the street. There was a certain lightness in his gait he'd never felt before; it was almost as if he could hear a pulsing beat anchoring his every step as he walked through the streets of London. Crowley did his best to keep the clicks of his boots against the sidewalk in steady time until he got to the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there's any glaring errors in here - my brain is slowly coming back online after such a rotten illness! <3


	35. I'll Accept You As You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o this is honestly just a lot of smut! Not quite pwp but! I think they needed it! I think they've earned it!

Friday 17 June 1977  
Soho, London

Crowley was at the restaurant a few minutes later. It was a new Japanese spot that had opened up a few months back. As he reached for the door, he realized it was still light out, and for a moment he thought he might have showed up too early. It was unusual for Aziraphale to want to do a proper supper before 8pm - Crowley craned his neck to look around at the diners – yet there the angel was, sitting at the best table in the restaurant, unfolding his napkin and placing it delicately in his lap. Crowley strode nimbly to Aziraphale's table without the angel noticing him; he was able to sneak up to Aziraphale's side and plant a very quick kiss on his right cheek.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Good evening, Angel.” Crowley watched as Aziraphale began to flush, the peachy pink color starting where he'd placed a kiss and slowly diffusing down to the angel's collar. Crowley pulled out his chair and moved it over just a bit closer to the angel, then slouched down in his usual posture.

“How are you this evening, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, placing his hand atop Crowley's. He was beaming and Crowley felt a thrill at having surprised him.

“I'm good, yeah,” Crowley said.

“Lovely.” Aziraphale beamed and with one hand, placed a menu flat on the table in between them. “I've heard wonderful things about the sashimi here,” he said, stroking his thumb lightly over the back of Crowley's hand. “William and Larry came here the other day and they said it was just to _die_ for.”

Crowley hummed. “Well, if it's that good, I suppose ” he said, slightly surprised that Aziraphale's hand was still resting over his, on top of the table for everyone to see.

“What would you like to drink, Crowley?”

“Something... light.”

“All right then.” Aziraphale didn't use a miracle per se to get the waiter back over to the table, but his powers of persuasion were unparalleled, and it only took a few seconds for the waiter to pick up on his unspoken request.

“Good evening sirs, have you decided on drinks?”

“Yes, we'll have a sake to share,” Aziraphale said, “and I'll start with the cucumber salad.”

“Excellent choice.” The waiter sashayed off with an exaggerated flounce and Crowley looked around to pick up on the fact that it was mostly gay men dining in the restaurant at the moment.

“Do you have plans later this evening?”

Crowley frowned. “Mmmm, no, I just thought we might be,” he gestured feebly to the space between them with his free hand, “you know. Eating. Or _dining_ , rather.”

“Ahh, well.” Crowley thought he saw Aziraphale blushing a bit again. The angel reached into his front pocket and pulled out a pair of tickets for Crowley to see. “I was wondering if you might like to see a show with me tonight. It just opened. Thought I'd make a surprise of it.”

“Sure, yeah,” Crowley mumbled, then cleared his throat to speak more clearly. “I'd love to.”

“Wonderful.” Aziraphale was beaming, glowing slightly under the dim lights of the restaurant. They worked their way through dinner at a slightly faster pace than normal; at one point, Crowley joked that he'd be happy to delay the show if necessary so they could enjoy dessert. Aziraphale shot Crowley a sly smile.

“I picked up some chocolates for after the show,” the angel said. Crowley sniped the check from the waiter when Aziraphale excused himself to the loo and delighted in the angel's chiding about it as they left and began walking the short distance to the theater. Aziraphale had gotten nice seats in a relatively private upper balcony, with bottle service, and they made it to the show just in time, as the evening's performance had been delayed for ten minutes due to a costume fiasco.

Crowley did his best to follow along with the musical, a lighthearted spoof of Agatha Christie's mysteries, but honestly, he was content just to sneak looks at Aziraphale, who was laughing along, pointing out little details to Crowley as he saw fit. Crowley was even more content once Aziraphale's hand came to rest on his thigh. A few songs later, Crowley found the courage to place his hand atop the angel's. When Aziraphale flipped his hand over to interlace their fingers together and turned to Crowley with a shy, beaming smile, Crowley was downright ecstatic. The demon barely noticed the intermission; he only remembered that he was able to drape his arm over Aziraphale for the entire second half of the musical.

They left the theater in a whirl of laughter; Aziraphale's hand tucked into the crook of Crowley's arm in what was becoming a new ritual for them.

“Where to, Angel?” Crowley tilted his head downwards to peer at Aziraphale over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Care to join me back at the shop? For that dessert I mentioned?” Aziraphale asked.

“Of course,” Crowley said. They took a meandering path back to the shop, talking, laughing, and enjoying the warmth of a summer night. It wasn't long before they were back on the stairs of the shop. The door opened without Aziraphale laying hands on it, and Crowley strutted back to the sofa and sprawled out in a familiar posture, one leg splayed out to the side, a sharp elbow jabbed into the armrest. Aziraphale wandered in behind him, heading for his desk and rustling around until he found a rather fancy box covered in gold foil and wrapped up with a purple and grey paisley ribbon.

“Is there anything you'd prefer to hear? Music, that is?” Aziraphale set the box down on the table before going to the turntable.

“Whatever you'd like,” Crowley said. Aziraphale hummed and put on a record he'd been enjoying recently. A soft, but groovy piano intro gave way to horns, and flutes, and by the time Aziraphale was back on the sofa with Crowley, the demon's foot was tapping in time to the song.

_You can come as you are_   
_with just your heart_   
_and I'll take you in_

“Hey, I know this one,” Crowley said.

“You do?” Aziraphale did his best to look surprised, instead of mentioning that he knew Crowley knew this song, because he'd heard it for the first time on Crowley's Thursday night at Radio Invicta.

_You're rejected and hurt,_   
_to me you're worth_   
_what you have within_

“Yeah, good stuff, really good stuff.” Crowley smiled. “What's in the box?”

Aziraphale undid the ribbon with all the flair of one of his ridiculous magic routines, then opened the box to reveal six gorgeous chocolates, formed in shapes of leaves and flowers. “They're floral cordials,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Rose, lavender, linden blossom, chrysanthemum, elderflower, and jasmine.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Crowley said, clearly impressed.

“I figured you'd like them. You know. Since they're all flowers.” Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and held the box up for Crowley to choose. “You pick first.”

Crowley didn't even try to hide the sappy smile that was forming on his face as he reached in and picked up the piece that was the most leaf-shaped. He bit into the chocolate and was surprised to taste the heady scent of jasmine; it reminded him of days long ago, smelling jasmine flowers blooming at night as he walked down cobblestone streets. “Mmmm,” he mumbled, doing his best to keep it all inside his mouth; Crowley made sure he'd swallowed all of it before speaking. “Jasmine. I got the jasmine. Really good.”

Aziraphale smiled and popped a piece into his mouth. Crowley could smell the rose before Aziraphale tasted it. The angel's face lit up as he mumbled, “rose,” in between bites of the elaborate chocolate. Aziraphale wasn't quite done, but Crowley couldn't resist reaching up with his finger and wiping a bit of dark chocolate and rose cordial from the corner of his mouth; Aziraphale placed his hand atop Crowley's before he could take it away.

_You don't have to be a star, baby_   
_to be in my show_   
_You don't have to be a star, baby_   
_to be in my show_

“Crowley, I would very much like to kiss you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley didn't bother to speak; he simply tipped Aziraphale's chin up and gave the angel what he wanted. At first, he landed small pecks against Aziraphale's lips and cheeks, then he delighted in feeling Aziraphale's mouth open up for him to explore more deeply. It wasn't long before each kiss tasted like jasmine and rose blended together. They kissed for what felt like hours; then Aziraphale climbed onto Crowley's lap and they kept on kissing. Aziraphale took Crowley's hands and placed them right on his arse. The demon correctly took this as an instruction and grabbed firm handfuls of Aziraphale while the angel kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. Crowley's hands had made their way to Aziraphale's thighs when the angel stopped suddenly and took Crowley's sunglasses off his face. He searched Crowley's eyes for a while before asking a question he felt was appropriate.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Aziraphale traced his fingers over Crowley's cheekbone.

“Well, uh, we shared the sake and then... didn't we share a bottle at the theater?” Crowley responded. He didn't say the rest of what he was thinking, which was that he felt it was about time he started taking it a bit easier on the wine when it came to these moments with Aziraphale.

“Same for me, Crowley, I guess we've kept it light this evening. Good, all right, that's good,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley closer, reaching down to begin unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up.

“It was quite good,” Crowley said. He was about to ask why Aziraphale was inquiring about this, but he was distracted by the angel's thumbs brushing over his iliac crests and he let out a gasp. Aziraphale undid Crowley's belt and slipped it off, then began unzipping Crowley's trousers as he pressed his face up against Crowley's cock, delighting in feeling it stiffen against his cheek. Aziraphale reached into Crowley's pants and was somehow able to take him in hand and free his painfully stiff cock without too much maneuvering.

“Please, Crowley.” Aziraphale was on his knees now, literally begging, and Crowley thought he might pass out. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and looked at the ceiling, asking anyone who would listen for the willpower not to explode all over the angel's face. “Let me return this favor to you, my dear, I want to so badly.”

“Anything you want, Angel,” Crowley muttered as he brought his arm up to cover his eyes. Aziraphale started by licking the head of Crowley's cock, then quickly took Crowley into his mouth. “Oh,” Crowley's legs began to shake, “my god – my somebody, Angel,” he cried out. Aziraphale was working his mouth up, down, and around the shaft of Crowley's cock with such care, the demon felt as though he was about to combust. Crowley let out a noise that could possibly be described as a squeak, but thankfully, he was too overwhelmed by sensation to be embarrassed. Aziraphale swallowed Crowley all the way down to the root, and the slurping sound combined with Aziraphale's warm saliva leaking all over him pushed Crowley over the edge. He tried to pull back before he came down Aziraphale's throat. “Angel, wait, I'm gonna, I'm gonna-” Aziraphale opened up his eyes and met Crowley's face with a defiant expression. The angel managed to scowl and shake his head, 'no,' before grabbing Crowley's arse with both hands and holding the demon firmly in place so Aziraphale could keep his mouth right where it was as Crowley spilled down his throat, his head tossed back, copper hair flying all over, legs trembling, fingers firmly gripping Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale watched in awe as Crowley fell apart under his hands. He liked this, oh, he quite liked this. Crowley gasped and felt himself softening in Aziraphale's... oh god, he'd come, hadn't he? It was so much, and it went right into Aziraphale's mouth...

“Oh, Aziraphale, oh, I'm sorry, I really,” Crowley wiped his sweaty brow, “was - was that all right? That was-”

“Yes, it was a lot,” Aziraphale wiped his mouth, then licked the fingers he'd used to do so, and Crowley felt dizzy at the sight, “and I quite enjoyed it.” The angel gracefully made his way from the floor to the sofa in a single fluid motion. “Are you... perhaps amenable to extending the evening?” Aziraphale asked as he took Crowley's hand and placed it down his trousers, but over his pants; Crowley could feel the warmth radiating off of Aziraphale's soft mound and his mouth watered as he smelled his angel's arousal.

“Yeah,” Crowley croaked, chest still heaving.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Aziraphale stood, leaving Crowley's hand where it was.

“Sure.” Somehow, Crowley was able to follow Aziraphale up the stairs and into his bedroom while keeping his hand nestled against the angel's pants; he suspected a bit of divine interference was at play. Once inside the 'bedroom,' which was a room containing a bed and several dozen stacks of books, Aziraphale slid his trousers off his body, then gently pushed Crowley backwards onto the bed before removing his pants, and his bowtie, and his vest, and his shirt, and for the past three hundred years or so, Aziraphale had worn far too many clothes, in Crowley's opinion.

“I didn't know you had a bed,” Crowley said as he reached back to fluff up the unsurprisingly plush pillow underneath his head.

“I don't use it too often.” Aziraphale straddled Crowley and splayed his hands over the demon's chest, feeling his body respond to the contact. “Can I take this off of you?” The words had barely escaped Aziraphale's mouth when he looked down and saw the expanse of Crowley's freckled skin underneath his soft hands. “Oh...”

“Sorry, Angel, I didn't want to wait for-” Crowley was silenced by a hearty laugh from Aziraphale, one he could feel resonating through his own belly, all the way to his spine.

“Oh, I think we've waited about long enough, don't you?” Aziraphale said. There was a wicked grin on his face that, to Crowley's surprise, didn't look terribly out of place. Crowley tried to mumble a witty response, but his legs still felt like jelly and his mouth didn't seem to be working too well. Aziraphale bent down and placed his hands on either side of Crowley's face and kissed him; the aroma of him was deep, heady, intoxicating. Crowley tasted jasmine and rose on the angel's lips as they enveloped his, burnt caramel and vanilla as the tip of Aziraphale's tongue found the fork in Crowley's and flicked against it. Crowley let his hands explore up the soft expanse of Aziraphale's back; the angel shifted his weight to one side and Crowley tasted a hit of something extraordinarily sweet in the air, then felt something delightfully warm leaking onto his torso, down his sides. “Crowley, I – um,” Aziraphale pulled back and looked slightly embarrassed for a split second before Crowley's yellow eyes locked onto his.

“Tell me what you want, Aziraphale.” Crowley's voice rumbled against Aziraphale's chest and the angel began squirming, his every move spreading more slick across Crowley's abdomen, more of his delicious scent in the air for Crowley to taste.

“Touch me, Crowley, please, touch me,” Aziraphale said, guiding Crowley's fingers down between his legs, bringing them to rest on his vulva; once the palm of Crowley's hand brushed up against Aziraphale's clit, the angel hummed and pressed up closer to Crowley's hand, seeking friction. Crowley, never one to deny Aziraphale an indulgence, freely gave Aziraphale his hand, his fingers, rolling them in slow and steady circles over the angel's clit until Aziraphale was quivering and shaking against him.

“Yeah, that's it, Angel,” Crowley said, urging him forward. Fuck, he loved making Aziraphale feel good; what he wouldn't give to do it all day, every day. Aziraphale suddenly exhaled, bent his head, and stopped moving, and Crowley frowned; he knew the angel had been close to coming, very close if Crowley's memory served correctly. “Hey, you okay? Why-”

“Oh, yes, darling, I feel wonderful. And you?” Aziraphale caressed Crowley's face with his soft hand. “Are you all right?” Crowley nodded immediately, and Aziraphale beamed back at him. “Oh. Lovely. May I, do you mind if I-” Aziraphale scooted down Crowley's body a bit and gingerly positioned himself over Crowley, suspended for a moment above him before taking Crowley's cock in hand. “I would much rather come on this, if that's quite all right with you, dear,” Aziraphale asked for permission in a saucy voice Crowley hadn't heard before; the demon felt his eyebrows rising, and rising, and rising.

“Buhh, yeah, sure,” Crowley muttered; he was fully hard in Aziraphale's hand, and whatever his angel wanted from him was what his angel would get. Aziraphale rubbed the head of Crowley's cock up and down between his folds. As the angel began spreading his fragrant slick all over him, Crowley felt his eyes roll back in his head. “Holy fuck,” he muttered. If he felt this good now, he was worried he wasn't going to last too long, and he didn't want to disappoint Aziraphale for their first time like this, and oh, God, this was his first time doing this, but probably not Aziraphale's, definitely not Aziraphale's-

“Crowley, dear?” Aziraphale had stilled and moved his hands to Crowley's chest. The demon opened his eyes to see a very concerned angel starting down at him. “Are – are you okay?” Crowley made a strangled sound from somewhere deep in his throat.

“We don't have to – I can stop if you don't want to do this tonight,” Aziraphale said, lifting his body up as if he were about to move off of Crowley.

“Oh, I do, I do want to,” Crowley rubbed his hands over Aziraphale's thighs, “I want to, jussssst feels ssssso good, Angel.” He hated when he lost control of his tongue like this, but, demon or not, there was only so much he could hold back.

“Okay.” Aziraphale decided to lean down and kiss Crowley for a while. He was getting his slick all over the demon's torso, and Crowley's cock, now pressed up against Aziraphale's soft stomach, was leaking too. Crowley nipped at Aziraphale's lower lip and the angel took that as a sign that he wanted to continue. Aziraphale licked his hand, then wrapped it around Crowley's gorgeous, thick cock. He paused, then locked onto Crowley's glowing yellow eyes. “All right?” he asked, tilting his head down towards where his hand was.

“Yessss,” Crowley said, and with that, Aziraphale felt a rush of heat through his body.

“Oh,” he said breathlessly as he slipped his thumb over the leaking slit of Crowley's cock. The demon's hips snapped forward into Aziraphale's hand. Lord in Heaven Above, it felt so wonderful to hear Crowley hissing and humming with pleasure. Crowley wanted this, Crowley wanted _him_ , and he knew, because he'd _asked_. Aziraphale had never been the most patient of ethereal beings, and he wiggled his body down a few inches to position himself over Crowley once more.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked as he gently guided the head of Crowley's cock inside him.

“Yeah,” Crowley said in wonder, watching himself disappear inside Aziraphale, wondering how it was possible for the angel to be so very warm and so very soft. Aziraphale pushed up, then back down, and Crowley noted with pride that his cock was covered in softly glowing slick. “You feel good?” he asked Aziraphale as he rolled his hips up, closely watching the angel's face.

“Oh, yes, darling, I feel so, so-” he clenched around Crowley and the demon gasped at the sensation, “-so very, very good, Crowley, you make me feel so good.” Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley's freckled chest and began rocking back and forth, up and down, somehow doing all at the same time. Crowley had never done this before, but as long as he followed Aziraphale's lead, he felt he'd be all right; he watched as expressions of joy, pleasure, ecstasy flitted across the angel's face in time with his motions. _I'm doing that_ , Crowley thought when he caught Aziraphale biting his lip, when he saw the beads of sweat start to form on his forehead, each time Aziraphale arched his back to get more of him. Crowley realized he wasn't blinking when one of Aziraphale's eyelashes landed at the corner of his eye; everything went blurry and he had to force his eyes to close, open, close again. He didn't want to miss a millisecond, a single frame of Aziraphale riding him with abandon. Aziraphale shook his head and a few drops of his sweat leapt from his brow and landed on Crowley's face. Crowley slipped his tongue out of his mouth and let it roam until he licked each spot of it off his cheek, his chin, his forehead. Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked at Crowley. The angel seemed a bit startled, as though he'd just now realized how closely, how intently Crowley had been watching him this whole time, exactly how much of Crowley's attention he'd been getting. A shiver rolled through the angel's body like a wave, and Crowley felt Aziraphale tighten around his cock. “Hnnnng,” Crowley vocalized as he tossed his head back; Aziraphale watched Crowley grit his teeth and suck in a deep breath.

“Crowley, do you – are you close? Do you need to-”

“'m fine, Angel, I'm good, what do you want?” Crowley asked, continuing to steadily and slowly thrust upwards into Aziraphale. The angel's eyes fluttered, as did something within his chest. In all his millennia of fantasizing about being with Crowley like this, he hadn't really anticipated Crowley being so consistently attentive, so focused on him; no one had done that for him before.

“Oh, Crowley, Crowley dear, you feel so wonderful, so absolutely delightful,” Aziraphale said as he arched his back and somehow pushed down further onto Crowley's cock. The demon was breathing slow and steady, his hands gripping Aziraphale's thighs so firmly his fingers had turned white down to the knuckle.

“I'm... that's... good...” Crowley was barely able to talk; he was focusing so hard on trying not to explode inside Aziraphale's impossibly warm, tight heat.

“Crowley, _oh_ \- oh my Lord,” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley's hips snapped upwards in a particularly sharp thrust that happened to jostle his clit.

“Is that... you all right?” Crowley asked, eyes closed, jaw clenched.

“Yes, Crowley, oh, Crowley, for the sake of-” Aziraphale had managed to position himself so every bounce of Crowley's hips was now sending an electric pulse straight to his clit, “-for the sake of, oh – fuck, for _my_ sake, please, Crowley, please don't stop, don't stop.”

Crowley, who was delighted to follow Aziraphale's explicit instructions, continued doing exactly what he was doing, focusing only on Aziraphale's face as he kept on fucking into him, trying to keep every motion exactly the same. He could last, he could do this, for Aziraphale, he could keep going.

“Oh, oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale cried out Crowley's name, then devolved into a series of increasingly loud wails as he came, clenching and spasming over Crowley's cock. The demon took a steadying breath and continued to follow Aziraphale's lead, keeping his thrusts at the same angle, the same timing, until the angel's thighs and arms relaxed, until Aziraphale's cunt slowed down its rhythmic pulses around him. Crowley stroked Aziraphale's lower back and slowed his hips down to gentle rolling circles. He felt a rush of fluid spill out of Aziraphale onto him, and Crowley couldn't help but react with a groan.

“Angel, Angel,” was all Crowley could say as he tightened his hold on Aziraphale's thighs. He was so close, but if he could just take a moment to regroup, then he was certain he could keep going if Aziraphale wanted-

“It's all right if you need to let go, my dear, we have all night to, oh,” Aziraphale shuddered and clutched at Crowley's chest as the last few waves of his orgasm rolled through him.

Since Aziraphale had given Crowley the permission to let go, he did; his hips lost their rhythm and started to stutter as he grabbed two firm handfuls of Aziraphale's arse and side and pumped into him. Crowley let out a low, guttural noise as he came; Aziraphale watched him thrash against the pillow, the muscles in his torso rippling as he pulsed hot inside Aziraphale for what felt like ages. “So very lovely, dear, so lovely,” Aziraphale said quietly as he felt Crowley start to soften inside him.

Once Crowley could speak again, his first thought was for Aziraphale: “Are you – do you need more?” Crowley asked, his long fingers dipping down to stroke the inside of Aziraphale's soft, plush thighs. “I can keep going. If you want.”

“Oh, I'm utterly worn out at the moment,” Aziraphale slumped onto Crowley's chest and kissed him sloppily, then rolled onto his side and wormed his way under Crowley's arm. The demon stroked his arm tenderly, then turned to face Aziraphale. The angel noted with pleasure that Crowley's eyes had gone full yellow.

“I might need something a little later on, though.” Aziraphale batted his eyelashes at Crowley and a lopsided smile started to appear on the demon's face.

“All right,” Crowley said with a chuckle. He wrapped his legs, his arms, his entire body around Aziraphale. “You say the word.”

* * *

As a rule, Aziraphale didn't sleep; Aziraphale had also never fucked a demon before. His corporeal form had been delightfully wrung out by the previous evening's activities with Crowley. He opened his eyes to see the light of the early morning glowing light blue in the sky, and he rolled over, expecting to brush his fingertips against a delightfully warm demon. To his dismay, there was no such gorgeous naked demon next to him. Aziraphale grabbed his robe and rushed down the stairs. Crowley was not sitting on the sofa, Crowley was not in the chair. He went to the kitchen, which was admittedly rather haphazard. Crowley was not there. It wasn't until Aziraphale walked out towards the door that he spotted Crowley, who appeared to be fully dressed, leaning against a bookshelf, and staring at the floor.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as Aziraphale approached. “Didn't mean to make you worry. Just – just couldn't sleep.”

That was unusual; Aziraphale knew how much Crowley enjoyed sleeping. “Ahh. Leaving already?” Aziraphale's voice cracked over the question.

“I uh, thought I'd, get out of your hair. Yeah.” Crowley had his sunglasses on and was tapping his fingers against his thigh.

Did Crowley think, by staying, he had been an annoyance? “You're hardly in my hair, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer. “At least have a cup of something with me before you go. I have coffee. _Good_ coffee.”

“Sure.” Crowley said. “I mean. If you want to.”

Aziraphale reached out for Crowley's hand, then shot him a flirtatious look over his shoulder. “I do,” he said, leading Crowley towards the kitchen. Aziraphale clicked the kettle on, and it wasn't long before they were seated back on the sofa, Aziraphale slowly nursing a cup of tea and Crowley slurping down a black coffee. They sat in silence until Crowley finished off his coffee and stood up.

“I'm um. I'm gonna get going. To the office. Gonna... check mail, stuff.” Crowley waved his hand around, gesturing to the door, then back to himself, then pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his nose and jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Right. Well.” Aziraphale stood and clasped his hands together. He wanted Crowley to stay, all day, into the night, the next day, the next night, the day and the night after that. He knew it wasn't possible, or prudent, but still, he wanted. “I uh, suppose I'll see you later then, at some point,” he said quietly.

“That you will, Angel.” Crowley slung an arm around Aziraphale's waist and kissed him deeply; the angel wasn't entirely prepared for it and it took him a beat for his hands to come to rest on Crowley's chest. Where they had been last night, when he'd been riding Crowley's cock. His knees buckled and he moaned into Crowley's mouth, which tasted of coffee, cinnamon, a hint of smoke, and clove. Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer and the angel felt the desire radiating off of him. Eventually, Crowley pulled back, and though he had his sunglasses on, Aziraphale could see the demon's eyes fixed on his lips. Crowley took his thumb and trailed it along the edge of Aziraphale's lower lip before bringing his hands back to their familiar position in his pockets.

“What a lovely evening, Crowley. I'd like to make a habit of it,” Aziraphale said, some of his anxiety eased by Crowley's reassuring kisses. Perhaps Crowley had just been feeling nervous and needed some time to himself.

“Yeah, that's – I like that.” Crowley's lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something else; after a moment, he awkwardly tipped his head and stumbled out the door, slamming into the door frame and cursing all the way down the stairs. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile to himself as he heard Crowley muttering down the sidewalk. He wiggled his fingers and ensured Crowley would have a smooth journey over to his office; not quite a blessing, nothing that would burn his feet, just an ease of passage. Aziraphale sighed. He knew he'd need to keep his mind busy today; he snapped his fingers and the turntable started playing one of his favorite singles.  
  


_Don't go breaking my heart_   
_I couldn't if I tried_   
_Honey, if I get restless_   
_Baby, you're not that kind_   
_Don't go breaking my heart_   
_You take the weight off me_   
_Oh, honey, when you knock on my door_   
_Ooh, I gave you my key_

* * *

Crowley arrived at his office a lot faster than he'd anticipated, it was as if there was a gentle wind at his back. “Aziraphale...” he muttered to himself as he let himself in, rustling the leaves of a philodendron that was doing quite well in its new location. He'd gotten a new answering machine for the office, latest technology

“AJ, yeah, hey, it's Freddie. Freddie Perren. Want to give me a call when you can, if you can, that is. If you're able to come to LA anytime soon, it looks like I could use your help to finish this up. Well, if you want, that is. All right. Hope I'm doing this thing right. Thanks, man.”

A single beep, and then another message.

“Hey there, AJ.” It was Bob. Crowley's stomach lurched and he sat down to listen to the rest of the message. “Just, um... well,” Bob chuckled, “haven't talked with you in a while, and, I wanted to. Just wanted to see how you were doing. I've been following what you've been up to, seems like it's going to be a big year for you.” He paused, and Crowley looked out the window. “I hope you're doing wonderfully, and it would be nice to hear from you sometime. Yeah, all right. Bye.”

Crowley hadn't realized Bob would have taken his withdrawal so personally, as he was the one who'd insisted on ending things. But he knew – he _knew_ – the right thing to do would be to talk to him, not in the curt way he'd done just after they'd split, but for real; to try to show up for the person who had been such a good friend to him through so much, the person who apparently desired to remain his friend despite it all. He kicked his feet up on the desk and put his hands behind his head. Time to try this talking thing everyone was always going on and on about...

* * *

Not long after Crowley had departed, Aziraphale started to feel a bit edgy. His skin felt itchy. It was suddenly too warm, too stuffy inside the bookshop. He paused his reorganization efforts to create a breeze for his own comfort when he heard the front door open. Aziraphale had a feeling he knew exactly who it was, and it turned out he was right.

“A _zir_ aphale.” Gabriel smiled at him and pulled out a large clipboard. “Is now a good time?”

_Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it_

Aziraphale kept his face as neutral as possible and clasped his hands behind his back. The turntable, which knew what was good for it, began fading the music out quickly. “Of course it is. Please.” he gestured to the sofa and followed Gabriel across the shop floor. Aziraphale perched stiffly on the edge of his chair and waited for his immediate supervisor to share whatever vapid nonsense brought him down to Earth this time.

“So, it's time,” Gabriel said, looking at the clipboard.

“Time? For?”

“We... talked about that new assignment a while back. Do you remember?” Gabriel really loved to get sassy in Aziraphale's bookshop and it drove him up a right wall, it did.

“Of course I remember.” Aziraphale crossed his ankles and imagined God Herself yanking Gabriel back to Heaven in a brilliant flash of light.

“Well, here it is.” Gabriel rapped his knuckles across the back of the clipboard.

“All right,” Aziraphale said placidly.

“What do you know about popular music from... let's say, the past ten years or so?”

“Uh, well, that really depends,” Aziraphale stammered, “I suppose you want to know about what I've been listening to, it varies from day to day, I guess I like soft music, well, sometimes I like things that are a little faster, I always enjoy things that remind me of our Heavenly Harmonies-”

Gabriel waved his hand at Aziraphale, 'stop,' as one would do to a young child or perhaps a dog. “Okay, okay, um, that's uh – that's not exactly what I'm talking about here. Let me get more specific. Were you aware there was a song about an angel, who has...” Gabriel flipped through his notes, “hmm. It says here, apparently the angel is missing from heaven?” He gestured around with his hand and looked at Aziraphale with a confused expression on his face.

Aziraphale paused, his mouth hanging slightly open. “Uhh, no. Can't say I was aware of that.”

“So you don't know anything about this?”

“No.”

“It's not your work, then, is what you're telling me?”

“No, it's not my work, I haven't ever-”

Gabriel turned another page over and fixed his cold violet eyes on Aziraphale. “What about a song repeatedly referencing a belief in miracles, that also references an angel?”

Aziraphale's brows knit together in confusion. “I... I can't say I've ever heard of that one-”

“You're really not aware that since the 1950s, there's been a 140% increase in the amount of human recorded music that references 'angels' and 'heaven'?” Gabriel used his stout fingers to make exaggerated air quotes around each word.

Aziraphale closed his mouth, swallowed, and folded his hands in his lap before he spoke. “I was not aware, nor do I have the faintest idea why that would be.”

Gabriel hooked his hands over his knee and kept his eyes locked on Aziraphale's for much longer than was necessary. Finally he uncrossed his legs, pulled a few papers off his clipboard, then handed it to Aziraphale. “All right. We had hoped perhaps _you_ might know what's going on down here, you know, since _you're_ the one who's assigned to Earth, but, if you don't. Well. Now you can get familiar with all this and report back.” Aziraphale took the clipboard from Gabriel's hands and began reading the bold headline.

SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT: DISCO was written in all caps in the middle of the first page. The second page offered some additional detail:

From: Heaven  
To: Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate

Your assignment is to research certain anomalies discovered in music, particularly regarding the new 'disco movement' and report back your findings. Special attention is to be paid to 'void locations,' which have been appearing in increasing frequency in recent years. See more on pages 77-125, Appendix A-D

“You want me to what?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. He was flipping through the rest of the notes for the assignment, which appeared to be at least fifty pages long, trying to make sense of exactly what it was Heaven wanted from him.

“Do you not understand the assignment?” Gabriel looked exasperated.

Aziraphale refused to blink. He stared at Gabriel until it became uncomfortable, then continued. “No, Gabriel,” he said, in the tone of someone talking to a young child, “I don't understand the assignment. That's why I'm asking for clarification.” He smiled; an insincere smile that Gabriel never caught.

“We, want you,” Gabriel started gesturing with his hands, punctuating every word as though he were trying to explain something to a class of kindergartners, “to follow up, on this thing, called disco. Do you understand now.”

Aziraphale was still confused. “I – perhaps I understand? I just don't understand why this is a priority and why _I'm_ the one being assigned to this project!”

“You're,” Gabriel kept accenting every word with a hand gesture, “being assigned, to this project, because you're, the only one here on Earth.” He plastered a patronizing smile on his face.

“It's going to take time away from miracles, from blessings,” Aziraphale huffed, “I don't understand how you expect me to keep up with my current workload with... all of this being added to it.” It was all he could do to stop himself from stamping his foot and throwing an outright tantrum to try to stop this ridiculous, hare-brained scheme.

“Your new assignment is to focus on this now, just like it says in the detailed instructions I gave you. Figure out what's happening, especially with these... with these, void locations, and get back to us.”

“Void locations?” Aziraphale asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Have you gotten to page 77 yet?”

“No...” Aziraphale said. Gabriel snatched the clipboard from his hands, thumbed about a third of the way through, then handed it back to Aziraphale.

“Start here,” Gabriel said, pointing to the second paragraph on the page, “We can't tell what's happening in these locations. It's as if they've... vanished? No, that's not the right word-” he paused, thinking aloud, “-maybe it's – concealed. That's it. That's the word. It's like they're concealed from our view.”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side and tapped his index finger against his lips. “Goodness, well, that's quite odd, isn't it...”

“It's very strange indeed. Hence why we want you on the assignment.”

“Are...” Aziraphale paused to read the last sentence on the page, “are these 'void locations' places where harm is being done? Do they need heavenly protection?”

“It's not that,” Gabriel said, “It's more that we have no idea what's happening in these spots at all. We have no frame of reference for any activity that happens there.”

“Is it that bad, then?”

“Between you and me, I doubt it. A few of the other angels, well, it's most just Sandalphon, he thinks they might be locations of increased demonic activity, but, at least from what I've seen, there's just no evidence to support that.” Gabriel leaned back into the sofa and threw his arm over the back.

“Hmm. There are particular markers for demonic activity,” Aziraphale said, still reading the extensive notes, “from your existing documentation, these so-called 'void locations' don't seem to fit the description. At least not from my experience with demonic energy.” Aziraphale was briefly distracted by a memory of his hand around Crowley's cock, stroking him to full hardness. He sucked in a quick breath and very quickly redirected his thoughts.

“I agree. But when it comes to humans, one can't be too careful.”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale heard Gabriel scoff and looked up to see him rubbing his temples. “Look, I will take on the assignment, but I just have to ask – I mean, it's a simple question, really – is this really a necessary priority? It's just that what's written here seems to be much less important than continuing to work miracles and answer prayers, and I have to say, I'm not sure why I'd be diverted from my existing good works in order to...” Aziraphale was cut off by Gabriel sighing loudly and dramatically; the archangel then put his head in his hands.

“Fine, fine, all right, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said resignedly. There was no way he was getting out of this one, and besides, if he was in charge of this project, he'd be able to control the narrative. Most of Heaven really wasn't always quick to understand happenings on Earth, which suited Aziraphale just fine; if it were up to him, he'd prefer to be left alone with his books, his wine, and ideally, his fallen angel.

“Great!” Gabriel's countenance changed immediately after Aziraphale agreed to the new assignment. He was always so blatantly transparent. Aziraphale had tuned out, and mostly smiled and nodded until Gabriel stood and walked towards the door.

“Aziraphale?”

“Hmm? Yes?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Ah, I'm afraid I didn't.”

Gabriel sighed and opened the door. “I _said_ , this assignment starts immediately.”

“Right.” Aziraphale nodded. “I will, uh, report back with information as soon as I am able.”

“Wonderful.” Gabriel didn't even bother walking down the stairs; he simply disappeared in a beam of violet light. Aziraphale locked the door and strode back to his desk. He sat down and let his fingers hover over the phone for a moment before he picked it up and dialed Crowley.

* * *

Aziraphale didn't explicitly say it was urgent, but Crowley could feel it through the line and didn't even bother driving; he stretched out his wings and was in front of the bookshop in an instant. He rapped gently on the glass until he heard the distinctive sound of Aziraphale's loafers padding towards the doorway. Crowley's instincts were right; the lines in between Aziraphale's brows were more pronounced than normal, and the angel looked over Crowley's shoulders as he opened the door for the demon. Aziraphale fumbled with the lock, and Crowley reached out for him as he saw the angel nervously blotting his hands off on his trousers.

“Hey, hey,” Crowley said, placing a steady hand on the small of Aziraphale's back, “you all right?” He took his sunglasses off and looked into the angel's worried eyes.

“Oh, I suppose so,” Aziraphale said, leaning into Crowley's shoulder and exhaling warm against the demon's neck, “it's – well, I suppose we should head over somewhere to sit down and discuss it all.”

“Right.” Crowley followed Aziraphale over to the sofa; he started to remove his hand from Aziraphale's back, but before he could stuff it in his pocket, Aziraphale reached down and grabbed his hand as he began babbling. “It's about Gabriel. He came in again, with an entire – goodness, it was essentially a _scroll_ of an assignment, apparently I'm supposed to be working now on something new,” Aziraphale flopped down on the sofa and pulled Crowley down; once the demon was seated, Aziraphale scooted over so that their thighs were pressed together, “He – Gabriel, that is – wants me on this,” Aziraphale reached for the words, “this _disco_... situation. Has your side said anything to you? Have you been contacted about any of this?”

Crowley's leg began bouncing up and down, moving as if he were a marionette and someone was pulling his strings. “Yeah, haven't. Haven't heard anything. Since that one time Hastur came up. Up here. But he didn't say much.”

Aziraphale was concerned. Crowley didn't often let his anxiety show quite so visibly. He scooted over closer to Crowley and set a calming hand on his thigh; eventually Crowley stopped shaking and placed his slender fingers over Aziraphale's. “Crowley, dear, I'm certain we can figure all this out together. It seems no different than any other situation from our various sides that we've handled over, well, however many thousands of years it's been. Really, Gabriel seemed barely concerned about any of it.” He tried his best to keep a lightness in his voice; he wasn't entirely sure that the request from Heaven was unimportant, but Aziraphale did truly believe that he and Crowley could find a way to work through it all.

Crowley finally looked at him, fixing his gorgeous yellow eyes on the angel's pale blue ones. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand firmly.

“I guess that answers my next question,” he muttered.

Aziraphale leaned over and gave Crowley a soft kiss on the cheek before responding. “What was your next question?”

“I, uh, it's about this project I worked on a bit,” Crowley said haltingly, “it's – well, I got asked to go to work out a few last minute details. On a project. In Los Angeles with a friend, that is.”

“That's wonderful, Crowley! Congratulations.” Aziraphale smiled broadly; he truly had no idea what Crowley was talking about, but it seemed important.

“Um, thanks, Angel.” Crowley was thrown off by Aziraphale's open joy and had to remember what he was going to ask in the first place. “I was going to ask if you wanted to um, come with me-”

“I'd love to-” Aziraphale was cut off by Crowley continuing on.

“-but I'm not sure that's such a good idea given the situation right now,” Crowley said as he flipped Aziraphale's hand over and laced his slender fingers in between Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale's face fell. “Why do you think it's not a good idea?

“Well, you just told me all about Gabriel and this new-”

“Do you not want me to go with you?” Aziraphale took his hand back and reached up to fidget nervously with the chain of his watch. “It's an industry work thing, yes? Is... is it. Will Bob be there?”

“Oh, no, Angel, no,” Crowley reached for Aziraphale, quickly tossing a slender arm over the angel's shoulders and using his other hand to pull Aziraphale's fingers away from his vest pocket, “that's not it at all, dove, it just seems like it might be... it might attract unwanted attention.” It was the first time such an endearment had spilled from Crowley's lips and Aziraphale noticed instantly; the softness on the angel's face threatened to completely undo Crowley.

“You're telling me the truth about all that?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Yes, of course, yes.” Crowley voice was just above a whisper, but insistent. Aziraphale nodded, then curled into Crowley's shoulder and began speaking quietly.

“It's been quite the day, and well, I wondered if you might – will you stay with me tonight, Crowley?” Aziraphale pleaded. “We don't have to – um, you know – we, well, you know I don't sleep, generally, but it would – of course it would be all right if _you_ wanted to sleep, I know the bedroom is a bit messy, but I can – if you'd give me just a few moments, I can get it sorted, you can have the bed to yourself if you'd like-”

“Yes, Angel,” Crowley said in a low, calm voice, one he only used when reassuring Aziraphale, “of course I'll stay.”

“Only if you want to stay, I don't want to – I'm not _demanding_ it of you, per se, but do you want to stay?” Aziraphale asked nervously before he was whacked in the face by something. “Ouch! Crowley, what on-”

“Oh, fuck, Angel, I'm sorry, I didn't – I didn't mean to,” Crowley stammered as he tried to untangle his wings from their current position; somehow, they had burst forward into the visible plane in a sort of Venus fly trap shape around Aziraphale, holding the angel inside.

“It's all right, they're really quite lovely,” Aziraphale said, reaching out and touching one of Crowley's primaries. His eyes sparkled as he noticed the black feather also had shades of purple, forest green, navy blue, and gold. “I never knew yours were iridescent.”

“Mmm, yeah. Been like that since, well.” Crowley averted his eyes and Aziraphale thought he saw the demon blush.

“You don't let them out often, do you, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not too often, nope.” Crowley felt a bit sheepish as he looked at the frizzy feather in Aziraphale's hand. His wings were in fairly rough shape; it wasn't really possible for him to groom them properly by himself.

Aziraphale began carding his fingers through the edges of Crowley's wings, slowly straightening bent feathers and working to smooth out the frayed feathers. Crowley let out a sigh and Aziraphale paused. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah, Angel, feels – mmm – great,” Crowley said honestly. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley's chest and continued stroking Crowley's feathers as the demon leaned into him.

“It's all right, I have you, love,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley thought he'd imagined it; Aziraphale winced as he said it. However, Crowley did stay, and Aziraphale worked Crowley's wings back into shape until the demon fell asleep in his arms. Once he felt Crowley slumping back against him, Aziraphale transported them upstairs. He delicately laid Crowley on top of the bed and climbed on next to him. He was about to pick up a book from the top of one of the many piles in the room, but after seeing Crowley in his bed with his gorgeous iridescent wings out, he decided there was something else he'd rather do. Aziraphale snuggled up against Crowley as close as he could, carefully inserting himself between Crowley's wings, then tossing a possessive leg over Crowley's lower half. Aziraphale let his hands wander down between Crowley's shoulder blades to absentmindedly caress the place where his wings met his body. “Goodness, my love, you're so beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley's shoulder. “You've always been so beautiful, you really have.” Instead of reading through the night, Aziraphale continued to groom Crowley's wings, murmuring and cooing words of love and praise into every feather he touched.


	36. So I'm Taking Out This Time To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale runs into Crowley when he's on his "assignment" and the two of them try to figure out exactly what it is Gabriel and Heaven wants from Aziraphale...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends. As predicted life has been kicking me in the ass during the month of December. it's good to be working and stuff but I would forget my head if it wasn't wired on, lol. Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> I have updated the chapter count as I believe the final count will land somewhere between 40-50 but I am not sure yet and it felt easier to me as a writer to give the flexibility if the story happens to wrap up a bit sooner than I had anticipated. I will keep everyone as updated as I can!

Thursday 30 June 1977  
Radio Invicta  
undisclosed location, London

Crowley had been in a measured panic over the past few days. He couldn't believe he and Aziraphale were to the point of spending nights together. It felt wonderful, carefree, exhilarating, and as usual, he found himself terrified. He was looking over his shoulder more often than normal. He'd woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night on Friday, too anxious to stay in Aziraphale's bed. It felt entirely _too_ good, like it might all be snatched away from him at any moment. Crowley had never understood whatever rules God and all Her agents were playing by; he had always been more bothered by the fact that he didn't exactly know _why_ he Fell than the Fall itself. Who knew what She was up to, or what any of those shifty Archangels were up to. Crowley had been devising strategies for the two of them over the past few days. Ideas came to him when he was driving, in the shower, at the office, and he wrote all of them down on a little list he carried inside his jacket pocket. Sure was odd; now that he had the one thing he'd wanted more than ever, he spent all his free time worrying about whether he'd lose it or not. Crowley let himself into Roger's flat and went to turn on the kettle, only to find it was already full of steaming hot water. He was almost late; his hour was supposed to start in two minutes, so Crowley went ahead and tossed on a record to give himself time to make some coffee and figure out his next hour or two. Sharp blasts of horns filled the room as Crowley made himself a pour over.

_Getaway_  
_Let's leave today_  
_Let's getaway_

“Hey there,” Roger called from down the hallway, “was a bit worried you might not show for a moment there. How you doing?”

“I'm all right. Cutting it a bit close, but doing all right. What's new?”

“Nothing, really.” Roger headed into the kitchen and emptied out the last of the kettle's hot water into his mug. “Oh. Now that you mention it. Been wanting to ask you about something. Friend of a friend, he's doing a night at Bang. You been over there yet?”

“No, haven't heard of it,” Crowley said, tearing through two envelopes at the same time, opening them up to reveal more records. Stacks and stacks and stacks of records. He sighed.

“You ought to go check it out,” Roger said, clinking his spoon around in his tea. “But it's only on Mondays. Or maybe Thursdays too. It's been getting rather popular. Don't know, but I think they'd like you, AJ.”

Crowley smiled. “You flatter me.”

“Yeah, all right, so I flatter you. Anyway, it's true. Go talk to Tallulah. Tell him I sent you. Promise me you'll at least go once.” Roger slowly walked back down the hallway and into his room.

_So come, take me by the hand_  
_We'll leave this troubled land_

Crowley spent the next three hours alternating between his favorite songs and tossing on random records that looked interesting; by his calculations it seemed only one out of every seven or eight albums was not worth playing. He opened an album with a cartoon cover, inexplicably called 'Disco Duck,' and remembered what Freddie Perren had said. It seemed the day had arrived where everyone and their mom was making a disco record. Crowley looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly midnight. He got up and stretched, then checked out the section of the shelf where he kept his favorite albums, noting that more than a few of them had ended up in Aziraphale's collection or at least in his general knowledge over the past few years.

Eh, what the hell, Crowley thought as he picked up a well worn copy of Where I'm Coming From and flopped it on the turntable. “Anyone out there got a special angel on their mind tonight? Well, if you do, this one goes out to you. This is Stevie Wonder, I'm AJ Crowley, and you're listening to Radio Invicta, the home of Soul over London.”

Crowley propped his feet up on the table, leaned back, and let the music wash over him.

_And if you really love me_  
_won't you tell me?_  
_And if you really love me_  
_won't you tell me?_  
_Then I won't have to be playing around_

The lyrics seemed to hit Crowley in a different way this time. He thought about Aziraphale, and then another thought: Aziraphale was listening to his radio show right now. Was he listening? He might be listening. Maybe he wasn't listening tonight. Or maybe he was...

* * *

Saturday 9 July 1977  
The Bookshop, Soho

 

Aziraphale took a look at the coordinates given on the map. He didn't feel like walking at the moment, so he snapped his fingers and willed himself there, only to find himself in what appeared to be... a bakery, surrounded by several confused employees. He quickly reversed his actions, ending up on the sofa in the bookshop. The angel wiped a bit of flour off his vest and vowed to try again. It was, after all, quite an important assignment, according to Gabriel. He would definitely need to take it seriously, and get on it. He heard Gabriel's condescending voice in his head reminding him that it was to 'start immediately.' Aziraphale rolled his eyes and picked up the book he'd been reading earlier. He'd try another day. And next time, he'd walk.

* * *

Monday 18 July 1977  
Charing Cross, London

 

Several days later, Aziraphale had decided to give it another try. He had been trying and failing to keep customers out of the shop all day and now, as the evening approached, the angel found himself annoyed and restless. Perhaps a nice walk would cure a few of his problems; he could stretch out his legs and attempt to follow up on the work assignment which was apparently so important he'd been taken off everything else. Aziraphale locked up the shop and made his way back to Charing Cross; he felt significantly less grouchy by the time he arrived to the location he'd visited a few days ago. Now, as night approached, the area was buzzing with activity. Aziraphale scoped out the crowd of people for a good five minutes before realizing they were in a queue to enter... somewhere. He couldn't quite make out where.

“Why on Earth is there a queue going all the way around the bloody building?” Aziraphale muttered, mostly to himself. However, someone heard him and responded with a huff.

“This is the queue for Bang.” Aziraphale looked up and saw a very stylish tall young man staring at him; he was wearing a long metallic dress, heels, and a sequined jacket. Although he was in a dress, he wasn't wearing makeup or a wig.

“Ahh.”

“You don't even know what Bang is, do you?” His voice was acerbic, and Aziraphale watched the young man drag his eyes over his outfit, starting at the spats and up to the vest he'd had for a hundred and eleven years.

“No, I don't.”

The young man sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. “Well. If you're trying to get in. You can stand with me. If you want,” he said.

“Oh. Right. Well, I – thank you.” They stood next to one another in silence for a while. Once they'd moved a few feet closer to the club, the young man spoke again.

“You're the one who owns the bookshop, right? With the gay book night?” the man asked without looking at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Yes, that's me – how did you. Excuse me. How did you hear the news of the book club?” he asked.

“I'm a friend of Shirley's.”

“Shirley...?” Aziraphale tried desperately to remember if he knew a Shirley.

“Oh. You might know him as Larry.”

“Ahh! Larry. Yes, of course,” Aziraphale's eyes lit up. “I'm Az – Ezra. My name is Ezra,” he said, extending his hand.

“Call me Sharon.” Sharon extended a hand to Aziraphale in a way that suggested they perhaps expected it to be kissed; something Aziraphale belatedly understood a few moments after awkwardly shaking Sharon's hand.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Sharon talked Aziraphale's ear off for the forty minutes it took to get to the front of the club. The angel decided to use a bit of persuasion to get himself into the door, especially as he certainly wasn't dressed the part. He followed Sharon into the darkness and realized he had not a clue where they were going. Aziraphale heard a familiar sort of swishy drum sound as he finally walked in to see an enormous dance floor. The place probably had enough room for a thousand people, and it appeared several hundred were on the dance floor under an enormous mirror ball. He recognized the song that Donna had recorded in Munich blaring over the speakers: I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love...

So, the coordinates given to him by Gabriel led to a disco club. Aziraphale walked over to a wall and leaned against it, arms crossed, lost in thought. He watched as a woman on roller skates wearing a set of silver sequined hot pants and a giant pair of white feathered wings skated by. Dozens of questions swirled through his mind. Why couldn't Heaven 'observe' what was going on in here? What about this was so vitally important that he was being directed to pay attention to people dancing? Couldn't any of the other angels get in here to see this? Then, a more sobering thought: if the other angels couldn't make their way into a disco club for some reason... why could he? Aziraphale decided he needed a drink; he went to ask Sharon if they felt wanted anything, but the dramatic, willowy-limbed friend of Larry's was already gone. He walked up to the bar and had to use everything short of a miracle to get the bartender's attention. The angel was elbow to elbow with men wearing clothes like Crowley's, slim trousers and shirts with the first few buttons exposed, people in very short shorts or unitards, glitter dresses, flowing lame clothing. If he'd known he was about to walk into such a swinging spot, he would have dressed differently. Usually, the stares from people didn’t bother Aziraphale, but at the moment, he was thinking about Crowley. This seemed like the sort of place he’d end up. Aziraphale sighed and continued nursing his drink. Why had he ended up here? He knew he’d have to get to the bottom of it sooner, rather than later.

* * *

Crowley let out a groan as he walked up the block and saw that the queue to enter nearly stretched around the bloody block. The whole having to wait to get into a hip and happening club had definitely been one of his Side’s inventions. “Scuse me, scuse me, scuse me,” he said over and over as he slithered through the queue and finally got to the doorman.

“I'm here to see Tallulah,” Crowley said; the doorman waved him in before he even finished his sentence. His annoyance from the queue faded once he was inside the club and his eyes had adjusted to the dark. Crowley noted with pleasure that Donna's latest hit was blasting through the club, and then he resumed his grumbling. Why were all these clubs always so damn crowded? For crying out loud, it was a Monday night, and the place was packed wall to wall with people in all states of dress and undress, dancing until sweat ran down their bodies. A man in a sleek green satin suit appeared out of nowhere to escort Crowley. He said nothing, just parted the crowds for Crowley until they arrived at a tucked away spot next to the bar. A white man dressed in a fuzzy hat and holding a scepter was surrounded by a cadre of admirers.

“Ahh. You must be AJ Crowley,” the man said. He didn't extend a hand to Crowley, just crossed his arms and gave him a good once-over. “When people have spoken to me about you, the word they used most often was 'fashionable.' I see they were correct.”

“Guess, well – guess word gets around. Pleasure to meet you.” Crowley stood still while Tallulah continued checking out his boots, his belt, his shirt, his necklace.

“Indeed. So Roger sent you my way, did he?”

“Spoke quite highly of you,” Crowley said.

Tallulah hummed. “He also spoke highly of you. I may have caught your radio show a few times at his request.”

“Ahh.” Crowley was secretly pleased, even if he wasn't going to show it at all.

“I hope you'll consider being a regular here, AJ. I hear your presence has a rather positive effect on industry events.”

Ahh. So Tallulah wanted something from him. Crowley scoffed. “There's a queue all the way to the Thames just to get in. I don't think you need my help with anything.”

“Oh, I don't need any help. But I would enjoy seeing you around.”

Crowley nodded, and looked over Tallulah's shoulder to the bar. He caught a glimpse of some white fluffy hair that reminded him of... wait. Was that... _Aziraphale_ at the bar? It was Aziraphale. The angel turned around and Crowley saw the flustered, completely out of place look on his face.

“Hang on just a minute,” Crowley said to Tallulah. “Think I see a friend of mine.” He slithered through the crowd until he made it over to the bar.

“Aziraphale?” He placed a hand gently on Aziraphale's arm and startled him to the point where he spilled half his drink on Crowley.

“Oh goodness, Crowley, I'm sorry, that was so clumsy of me.” Aziraphale laughed awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I'm - do you not wish for me to be here?”

Crowley groaned. “No, that's not – shit – that's not really – I just mean, I didn't expect to see you, you know, in here,” he said honestly.

“If you must know, I was sent here,” Aziraphale said.

“You got – what? What you mean you got sent here?”

“Crowley, do you,” Aziraphale fidgeted with his nails, “would you mind if we discussed this somewhere more private?”

Crowley scowled and chewed on his lip for a minute before nodding. He motioned for Aziraphale to follow him and walked back to Tallulah, who was now surrounded by what appeared to be more adoring fans. “Hey, this is my friend Ezra, Ezra, this is Tallulah, he's DJing tonight. Listen, would you mind if we used your green room for a minute?”

“Absolutely not, follow me.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and shot Crowley a familiar prim look as they followed Tallulah to the back of the club and through a door.

“Here, take all the time you need.” He tipped his head as he left Aziraphale and Crowley alone in the 'green' room, which wasn't green at all, but was decorated in shades of red, white, and black. Aziraphale examined the gold desk in the center of the room, which bore more than a passing resemblance to the desk in Crowley's flat.

“Why is this called the 'green room,' Crowley, it's not green in here, it's-”

“Angel, I'll tell you another time. Talk to me. What's going on? Why were you sent here?” Crowley asked anxiously.

Aziraphale looked around. “It’s part of my assignment. You know,” he said in a hushed voice.

“You’re telling me that you’ve been sent here. To a disco club. On an assignment.”

“Yes, Crowley. Gabriel gave me these maps, with all these coordinates, he referred to them as a ‘void locations,’ told me no one from Above could see what was going on here, and he insisted I make this a ‘top priority.' His words.”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Wait a minute. Say that again. Gabriel called it a 'void location'? Why did he call it that?”

“Well, I'm not entirely sure, but in the notes, where did I read it...” Aziraphale reached into his jacket and pulled out a flattened roll of papers, then licked his thumb and flipped through the pages until he found the reference he needed. It was so familiar and so _Aziraphale_ that it caused Crowley's chest to tighten up. “Ahh. Here.” He passed the page to Crowley, who read it, reread it, and read it a third time, just to make sure he’d understood it correctly.

“You said you were given coordinates for this location?”

“Not exact ones. I overshot the first time and ended up inside a bakery, if you can believe it. The map is hardly precise,” Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley paused. He knew he needed to tread carefully here. “Do you – would you consider letting me take a look at the map they gave you? Not here, no rush on it really, but I have an idea – I think I might know what these locations are.”

“Absolutely, Crowley,” Aziraphale answered without hesitation. Crowley blinked rapidly, his eyelashes fluttering up against his sunglasses. He hadn't expected Aziraphale to agree, much less so readily. How far they'd come. “Perhaps, once you're done with um, your business here, you could join me at the bookshop? Or I could come to yours. If you'd like,” he added.

“You know, I think my place would be best,” Crowley said, remembering the stacks of music magazines he'd likely need to reference. “And I'm not really up to much here, just swung by to do a favor for a friend. I'll be ready to head out in a few minutes. Unless you want to stay.”

“I'd rather go with you,” Aziraphale said as he took Crowley's hand. Crowley led them out of the green room and back into the club feeling flustered, but happy to be out and about with Aziraphale, who apparently felt comfortable enough to hold his hand. Crowley scanned the crowd for Tallulah, only to see him standing in the narrow hallway that led to the exit.

“Gonna head out, but you've got my number in case you need anything at all,” Crowley said, reaching out to shake the DJ's hand and remembering at the last minute that apparently he didn't do that.

“You and your _friend_ have a nice evening,” Tallulah said with a wink.

“Oh, we will,” Aziraphale replied with just the right amount of sass. He took Crowley's hand (the one that was still hanging awkwardly in mid-air) and placed it on his arse as they turned and walked away from Tallulah and his admirers. Crowley stared straight ahead and tried desperately not to think about the fact that his hand was on Aziraphale's arse, because the angel had wanted it to be there.

“What does your friend think he's all about,” Aziraphale muttered as they wandered down the street.

Crowley shrugged. “Who knows,” he said, bringing up his arm for Aziraphale to hold, “some humans get famous and it just – I don't know, I guess it goes to their head or something.”

* * *

After a quick stop at the bookshop, Crowley drove to his flat and helped Aziraphale carry up two briefcases, full of the papers and maps the angel had been referencing. Crowley set the briefcases on his desk and Aziraphale popped them open and began carefully sorting them.

“Crowley, dear, do you mind if I use your, your throne here?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley laughed. “Hardly a throne, but yes, absolutely. You want tea? Cocoa? Anything?”

“Oh, I'm quite fine for now.” Aziraphale pulled the large chair up to the desk and sat down. “I'll be ready to show you these in just a tick, I just need to get them arranged a bit better and find what I'm...” he trailed off as he made a new separate stack of papers.

“You want to hear anything while you're working, Angel?”

Aziraphale's face lit up. “That would be lovely.”

“What would you like?”

“I trust your judgment,” Aziraphale said as he unfolded a map.

Crowley decided to put on something he knew Aziraphale would like. As Karen Carpenter's voice started to flow through his flat, the angel turned and gave Crowley the warmest of smiles. Crowley continued puttering about, pretending to organize things; eventually he headed into his plant room to quietly order every philodendron and monstera to be on their best behavior.

_can't I pretend that I'm locked in the bend of your embrace?_  
_For dreams are just like wine, and I am drunk with mine_

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called from the desk. Crowley walked back into the main room, spray bottle in hand. He said nothing, just went and stood next to Aziraphale. Crowley looked at the maps spread out on the table; there were spots everywhere: a high concentration of them in the United States and Europe, a handful in England, and assorted ones spread out across the world. “You've spent a lot of time in the States in the past few years, haven't you?”

“Yeah, I mean. Some of it.”

“What about New York?”

“Yeah. Been there.”

“Do you know this area?” Aziraphale held up a smaller, more detailed map. Crowley recognized a few major street names and realized he was looking at a map of Manhattan.

“I've been up around this way to a few sessions. Not much else,” Crowley said, tracing his finger over the perpendicular lines.

“Ah. Well, I asked because there's a void location marked here,” Aziraphale pointed to a spot in Midtown. “Appears to be somewhere in the... in the 50th street area.”

Crowley exhaled. “I'm not sure, Angel. Haven't really been to too many places up there except the studio.” Aziraphale's lip stuck out a bit in the faintest hint of a pout and Crowley held back a laugh. “Could ask around though, if you'd like.”

“Ask around? What would you be asking?”

“I don't know, this other place was a disco club, maybe there's something up there I don't know about. Could be another recording studio, or, something?”

Aziraphale's face softened. “Oh, oh. Yes. Please. That is, if you don't mind. I appreciate that.”

“Oh, hang on a sec, I remembered something.” Crowley found a stack of music magazines he'd been hanging onto and plopped them down on the desk. He picked up one and thumbed through to a page that had the locations and addresses of several famous recording studios. “You happen to have anything in Philadelphia?” he asked.

“Goodness, Crowley, I don't have the faintest idea where that is,” Aziraphale said. Crowley flipped over a few maps until he found Philadelphia. Sure enough, there was a spot marked, somewhere near the city center.

“Hmm.” Crowley looked at the map, then back at the dog eared page in his magazine, then back at the map.

“What?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, I had thought that - maybe if all of these locations were related to disco, they might be recording studios in there, right? Cause, you know, that's technically where it was created, in a studio. Some of the first disco songs were recorded at Sigma. And there's one of those hot spots labeled on the map,” Crowley pointed to a pink dot, “but look - it's all the way across town. So, no way it could be the same place.”

“Ahh.” Aziraphale sighed.

“And also, the location, Bang, you know, it’s only there one night a week. Other nights there’s other music. But I’m pretty sure there’s no uh, demonic sacrifices or anything happening there.”

That got a small chuckle out of Aziraphale. “I just have no idea what in the Heavens Gabriel wants me to do with all of this,” he said dramatically. “It was a good theory, though. Thank you for trying. And thank you for helping me with this. I wish I could figure out some sort of pattern to it.”

“It's no problem at all, Angel,” Crowley said, leaning down to press a kiss to Aziraphale's temple. “You sure you don't want anything to drink? Any tea?”

“Now that you mention it, tea would be lovely, dear,” Aziraphale said. The angel pulled a map from the bottom of the stack, looked it over, then let it fall back onto the desk. He sighed and laid his head down; Crowley was preparing his tea and didn't see him. Aziraphale decided he'd done enough for the evening. He'd looked over dozens of maps and coordinates, and he was still no closer to figuring out the situation than before. He was frustrated, but at least he was with Crowley; at least he had someone helping him. Aziraphale nearly fell out of the throne as he realized that for his existence, it had only and always been Crowley helping him. Crowley had always been there for him. It was Crowley who came to his rescue when he was in over his head. It was Crowley who had helped him fulfill assignments over the years. And it was Crowley, always Crowley, who had been around to keep him company. Aziraphale felt a bit of warmth gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watched Crowley opening the cabinet, setting the mug down next to the kettle, tearing open a packet of tea (utterly endearing, that one of the only things Crowley had in his kitchen was something he knew Aziraphale liked), and pouring hot water overtop it. His heart felt like it might burst; he was very well and truly in love with Crowley, who, as it turned out, he'd loved since the very beginning. A new feeling, an old feeling? Aziraphale couldn't separate any of it anymore. He only knew that he was going to have to tell Crowley. Oh, heavens. He was going to have to tell Crowley. He was going to have to say the words, aloud, to Crowley. While Crowley was conscious.

Aziraphale watched Crowley perform the simple task of making his tea and was suddenly overwhelmed to the point of being unable to move. Crowley stirred his tea and brought it over to the angel. When Aziraphale didn't take the mug in his hands, Crowley began rubbing his back.

“Come on, Angel, why don't you take a little break,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale finally found his voice. “Yes, dear, I think that's a good idea.” Crowley led him to the sofa and they sat in silence for a while, Aziraphale sipping the tea that was made perfectly to his liking, and Crowley slouching down into the sofa, content to sit with his leg touching the angel's. Aziraphale's mind was overrun with possibilities, ideas, and he thought of the many ways in which he could finally tell Crowley how he truly felt. He set his tea down and took Crowley’s hand. Just as the angel was about to open his mouth to speak, Crowley was kissing him. It felt so good, Aziraphale was immediately lost in sensation. It was always so good with Crowley.

“Is there anything you need, Angel?” Crowley asked, running his lips along Aziraphale's neck and gripping his thigh. A soft moan escaped the angel's mouth and he tried to bite it back. Surely Crowley knew he wasn’t only interested in a physical relationship? A wave of guilt passed over Aziraphale as he realized that Crowley might not know this, as he’d never said the words aloud. The demon’s fingers moved up closer to the junction of his thighs, and although Aziraphale wanted Crowley, wanted to be touched by Crowley today and always, he placed his hand atop Crowley’s, stilling its motion. He felt now was a wonderful time to begin making himself more clear.

“Crowley, dear, I'm – I'm quite all right,” Aziraphale said. He watched Crowley snatch his hand back from his thigh as though he'd been burned. “Oh no, that's not – that's not exactly what I mean.” Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and placed it back on his thigh, holding it in place with his own hand. “I – well, what I'm trying to say is - I don't _need_ you to do anything for me tonight. We've been working at this for hours. I know you're tired. Goodness, I don’t even sleep, and I’m tired.”

“Angel, I don't mind-”

“Dear, I know you don't mind. I'm well aware, as I've been lucky enough to be on the receiving end of your devotion for so long,” Aziraphale said, “all I'm saying now is that well, I don't _expect_ it from you. Do you understand?”

Crowley continued staring at the floor. “I mean. Yeah. I guess so.”

Aziraphale’s face fell. As usual, he’d tried to express himself concisely and failed. Completely. He decided to try a different approach; he sidled up a bit closer to Crowley and placed a soft, warm hand on his cheek. “Perhaps if we get a little bit of rest, we can enjoy some time together in the morning.” He laid little kisses all over Crowley's cheek.

“Right, well. Yeah. I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow, then,” Crowley mumbled.

“I wasn't planning on leaving, oh-” Aziraphale paused, and his face fell, “-unless you didn't want me to stay.”

“No, no, love for you to stay. It's great. Stay.” The words fought their way out of Crowley's mouth before he could sort them. Aziraphale clutched his hands together and smiled beatifically.

“I would love to stay.” Aziraphale leaned over and Crowley got the hint; the demon placed a few kisses on Aziraphale’s cheeks and neck before standing up and offering Aziraphale his hand. He led the angel to his bedroom and stood awkwardly next to the bed for a moment.

“I’ll just, uh...” Crowley trailed off, gesturing to his clothing, then to Aziraphale’s.

“Oh, it’s quite all right, dear, just give me a minute and I’ll ready for bed. Well, ready to read for the evening, that is,” Aziraphale chuckled.

Crowley hurriedly wiggled out of his shirt and trousers and essentially dived under the covers before Aziraphale had finished taking his shoes off. The angel turned the comforter down and slowly climbed into the bed, letting out a hum of approval as he got situated.

“Well this is quite lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, vigorously fluffing a pillow and then jamming it behind his back, “I can see the appeal of spending more time in a bed like this one.”

Crowley reached over Aziraphale to set his sunglasses on the side table. “Always have liked sleeping.” He laid back down and pressed the length of his body against Aziraphale's, then froze. Crowley scooted over so he was no longer touching Aziraphale, and then he felt a warm hand on his cheek.

“Please. Sleep how you want, dear. This is your bed, after all. Don't worry about disturbing me.” How did Aziraphale already have a book in his hand? “I'll just be working my way through this.”

“All right.” Crowley returned to his previous position, pressed right up against Aziraphale's legs. He snaked his arm over the angel's lap, being careful not to jostle the book Aziraphale was reading.

“Good night, Crowley.”

“Night, Angel.” Crowley didn't even have a moment to feel thrilled that Aziraphale was here, next to him, in his bed; he suspected a bit of miracle working was afoot, as he fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Crowley woke up and stretched out slowly, cracking several vertebrae in a row, and then his hand hit something hard. He flipped over to see Aziraphale was still in his bed and that the hard thing he'd just smacked his hand against was a book.

“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said, smiling, as though it were the most normal thing in the world for Crowley to wake up like this, with an angel in his bed. He closed his book and set it on Crowley's sleek black nightstand, along with the glasses he didn't need but enjoyed wearing. “Did you get some rest?” he asked as he shimmied back under the covers to wrap his arms around Crowley.

“Mmmmph. Yeah. Slept great,” Crowley said. He didn't have a chance to get anything else out before Aziraphale kissed him. He was only wearing a pair of black pants, and he felt himself stirring the moment Aziraphale placed a hand on his hipbone to pull him closer. Crowley slung his leg over Aziraphale, who was, for some reason, dressed in a full set of pajamas.

“Why do you have so many clothes on?” Crowley grumbled.

“Well, I don't have to have them on, love,” Aziraphale said. Crowley was grateful for the fact that his face was buried in Aziraphale's warm neck when the word washed over him. He kept pressing sloppy kisses along the side of Aziraphale's neck until he felt a sudden warmth pressing against him and realized the angel had miracled all his clothing off.

“That's much better.”

“I agree.” Aziraphale reached for Crowley and wordlessly encouraged the demon to let his hand wander downwards, between his thick thighs. The angel moaned as Crowley finally touched him.

“Been waiting for me to wake up, Angel?” Crowley asked once his fingers slipped up into Aziraphale, who was already wet and warm.

“Yes, I have.”

“Hmm.” Crowley switched positions, rolling onto his side so he could brush his thumb over Aziraphale's clit.

“Oh, Crowley, Crowley, please.” Aziraphale said, letting his thighs fall open for Crowley.

“Anything you want.” Crowley was more than happy to start the day by listening to Aziraphale's muffled little squeaks and moans of pleasure resonating against his neck, and his thoughts quickly turned dangerous. _'What if we could do this every day?'_ Crowley thought, as Aziraphale came underneath the steady motions of his fingers, clutching his back and calling out his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tallulah was a famous DJ in London! I'm not trying to write him as an asshole here, lol, but from the photos I've seen of him, he was dramatic and quite a character. Maybe we'll see him again later on, maybe not, but the history of Bang in London is very important to the disco era, especially before London had a dedicated disco club.....
> 
> https://daily.redbullmusicacademy.com/2013/05/coming-out-ball-70s-gay-clubbing-in-london
> 
> Also yes, Disco Duck had to make an appearance. I really hope that Freddie Perren actually said something like that in real life, because as I've been doing my deep dive into disco over the past six months, I have definitely seen the point where everything jumped the shark, LOL.. 
> 
> Thank you all for continuing on this wild journey with me! Had no idea I would be writing something like this but I'm so glad to finish it out for everyone who's been reading and enjoying. Thank you all so much! <3


	37. Let's Express That Love Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Los Angeles premiere of Saturday Night Fever... what have Crowley and Aziraphale been up to for the past few months?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter to get me and our Ineffable Husbands back on track... Thank you so much for continuing to follow the story with me! I am done with my three weeks of retail hell and back on a good writing schedule. :) Excited to continue the story :) I love all of you special wonderful people :) Thank you for all your lovely comments!

Monday, 28 November 1977  
The Bookshop, Soho

 

Aziraphale was pacing nervously in a figure eight pattern across the shop floor. Crowley was due to be at the shop any minute now; they were going out to dinner and then possibly to a show, and this was supposed to be the night where they planned their upcoming trip to Los Angeles for the movie premiere. Supposed to, being the operative phrase. Aziraphale was already a bit nervous about going out of town and leaving the shop, though he'd done what was once unthinkable and had made keys for William and Larry so that the Book Club might continue while he was away. However, another unexpected visit from Gabriel a few days ago had blown the whole thing up in his face. Aziraphale stamped his foot on the floor as he remembered the sanctimonious, smug lecture he'd gotten about his “priorities” and taking his position “seriously” and what it meant to be “truly devoted” to “Heaven's cause” and this particular Principality was getting pretty fed up with the requests and invasions of what little privacy he had.

He knew he couldn't go to Los Angeles. It wasn't safe. There was no telling what might happen if Gabriel was able to find him, if Gabriel saw Crowley, if Gabriel saw them together? The way he'd hoped they would be together on this trip? Aziraphale gulped and pulled at his collar. A few sharp raps sounded on the door and a familiar silhouette strutted into the shop.

“Crowley.” Heavens, how Aziraphale loved saying Crowley's name, loved hearing it spill from his lips, tasting it in his mouth. But he wasn't feeling right, wasn't feeling himself, and he had a habit of forgetting that his demon knew him well enough to know it. Crowley seemed to be by his side immediately, a hand draped over his back, concern etched between his brows, his eyes searching Aziraphale's face.

“Hey, what's wrong?” Crowley had seen him right before Gabriel's ill-timed visit; he'd come over and they'd drank wine and made love – well, that's what Aziraphale was calling it at least, he hadn't verified that with Crowley, but it sure felt that way – until the wee hours of the morning before Crowley had gone off to supervise a three-day recording session in San Francisco. And now here he was, back; the first place Crowley had come was to _him_ , and he was going to have to deliver bad news.

“The day you left, there was – Gabriel stopped by again,” Aziraphale was sucking in ragged breaths and struggling to speak.

“Come on, come on now.” Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and led him to the sofa. “Slow down and tell me from the beginning.”

Aziraphale looked into Crowley's eyes and could hardly believe the transformation he'd seen in the demon in the past six months or so. It turned out that giving Crowley his constant reassurance that he wanted him around, that he cared for him, and also (crucially) that he really, absolutely, completely enjoyed fucking him had quite the effect on the demon, who was now handling himself more confidently than Aziraphale could ever remember. There was an air of quiet surety about him; even though Aziraphale hadn't quite managed to tell Crowley _exactly_ how he felt, he'd certainly been dropping hints, and for once, it seemed they were on the same page, or close to it.

“I've been planning, I've been making arrangements,” Aziraphale felt the need to explain first, “I gave William a key – Larry too – so if anything were to go awry they would be able to get into the shop-”

“But something's happened, Angel, so what's happened?”

“I’m - I think – well, Crowley, of course I would love to go-”

“I think you should stay here,” Crowley said, mercifully voicing Aziraphale’s thought for him. The angel stopped wringing his hands and let them rest in his lap.

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I regret to say that I think you’re right.”

“You regret to think I’m right?” Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale let out a breath he’d been holding the entire conversation.

“No, Crowley, I – you're often right about many things,” Aziraphale said quietly, “it's just that I was rather looking forward to going with you, being there with you...”

A few years ago, or even six months ago, this would have had Crowley's heart hammering in his chest; the combination of Aziraphale suddenly canceling on plans plus the soft compliment... it would have driven him mad, and he likely would have indulged in several unhealthy coping mechanisms. Now, after what he and Aziraphale had been building upon, knowing what he now knew, he kept a calm, steady hand on the angel's thigh as he continued explaining what had transpired while he'd been gone.

“...and there was quite a big lecture about my 'responsibilities' and my 'duties' and of course all 'Heaven's eternal plan' and Crowley, I just – I fear – I don't know if it's safe. For you,” he tacked on quietly.

Crowley nodded. “I understand.”

“You – you do?” Aziraphale asked.

“I do.” Crowley signed heavily and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Of course I want you to come with me, but we still don't know what Gabriel wants. For all we know, this could be some sort of... some sort of setup. Designed to make you...” _you know, Fall_ , Crowley didn't complete the thought, although he knew from Aziraphale's long silence that the angel got the message.

“Yes, you're absolutely right, Crowley,” Aziraphale said sadly.

“Hey.” Crowley placed one hand, then the other, on Aziraphale's face. “Hey. It's all right. It just, it is what it is,” Crowley said, repeating a phrase he'd heard Donna say often.

“I suppose so.”

“There's certain-”

“-certain precautions we have to take,” Aziraphale continued, “yes. Yes. I know. I know. You're right. I know you're right.”

It was the undercurrent of their entire existence, the 'what if' that lingered after every interaction large or small. Crowley didn't know what to say, so he let his fingers wander across Aziraphale's face, caressing the angel's soft, round cheeks, his chin, his lips. “I won't be gone long,” he said softly once he was ready to speak again, “I planned, um, well, if you were coming, there's things I wanted to do, but, since. You know. I'll come back right after.”

The tender look on Aziraphale's face spoke volumes. “You don't have to do that,” the angel said.

“I know.” Crowley kissed him, then wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and gave him a good solid squeeze. “It's fine. Rather be here anyways.”

“Oh, and you've got to be back by Thursday, don't you? For the radio show,” Aziraphale said without even thinking.

“The... radio show?”

“Yes, your...” Aziraphale's eyes were wide and he was pursing his lips together.

“How did you know about the radio show?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Well, ahh, actually, I've – I've been listening for a while.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale over the tops of his sunglasses. “A while? How long is a while?”

Aziraphale looked down at the floor. “Oh, for several years at least. I believe since the end of 1975,” he said quietly.

Crowley felt his face go hot. Aziraphale had been listening to him on the radio this entire time?! “Yeah, uh, I've been doing it for a while,” he said in a thin, reedy voice.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said. “I didn't mean to embarrass you, Crowley.”

“I'm not,” Crowley lied.

“I apologize. I should have told you sooner. It was just, I didn't know what you were doing on Thursdays, why you didn't seem to be available then. The whole thing – I found out on accident. Just happened to switch on the radio one Thursday and, there you were.” Aziraphale sounded sincere, and certainly not offended by any of it. Interesting.

“Well, uh.” Crowley coughed. “What did you think?” He scanned his memory of the past several years; of all the songs he'd played on the air, the ones that stuck with him the most were the choices he'd made when he was feeling emotional. The heart-wrenching songs that expressed his sadness, the hopeful songs that began working their way into the mix, and lately, all the loving and/or sensual songs that Crowley reached for. He suddenly felt like a thin cellophane wrapper, completely transparent to the point of perhaps being torn open. Hopefully not discarded.

“I have always...” Aziraphale started, then paused and pursed his lips as though he were about to share something really juicy, “always rather enjoyed listening to your show. All of it,” he said

Crowley couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment, especially as he remembered how he'd been closing each Thursday for the past few months with a really sappy love song. Then he looked at Aziraphale, who was holding his hand and fixing him with a look so intense it warmed the air between them. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident, nonchalant. Both Donna and Freddie Mercury had repeatedly stressed the importance of 'fake it 'till you make it,' in all areas of life, and Crowley was finally putting it into practice. He stood and gestured towards the door. “I believe I came to take you out on a date,” he said in a low, throaty voice he'd learned had quite the affect on Aziraphale. The angel looked at him with eyelashes aflutter, smiled and blushed, then grabbed his jacket. As Aziraphale headed towards the door, he began babbling in the way he often did when Crowley was around and continued shooting him these little looks infused with a myriad of emotions.

 _So what_ , Crowley thought. He had what he'd wanted; the ability to spend time with Aziraphale, take him to dinner, even the luxury of touching him – holy shit, how had that happened? - and he often got to experience his own personal heaven: waking up in bed curled around a warm and affectionate angel. Did it matter if Aziraphale didn't feel it exactly the same, if he wasn't going to voice it in the way Crowley desperately longed to hear? Wouldn't the end result be the same? Crowley smiled at Aziraphale and offered his arm as they walked out of the shop and onto the sidewalk.

* * *

Wednesday, December 14, 1977  
Mann's Chinese Theatre  
Los Angeles, California

Crowley had arrived in Los Angeles with enough time to get a good soak in the bath and make sure he looked as good as possible. He'd never been to an event like this before, but Freddie had done a good job of telling him what to expect, his exact words being “lots of people, lots of cameras, lots of drinks, lots of bullshit.” He'd worn a variation of one of his usual studio outfits, a crisp red shirt with the flared trousers that seemed to still be in style at the moment and a black jacket. He took a moment at the mirror to apply some cologne and fuss with his hair, which had gotten quite long. And shaggy, Crowley noted as he ran his fingers through it. He twisted and turned, then unbuttoned another button on his shirt so more of his gold jewelry was visible. Crowley sighed. This was as good as it was going to get; without Aziraphale here, he wasn't going to pull out all the stops or anything. He left the hotel just in time to be fashionably late.

* * *

The place was packed to the gills, and Crowley couldn't help but groan as he slithered through a sea of beautiful, beautiful people. He always forgot how much he hated crowds. When a blonde woman smacked him in the face during a creative retelling of a story, he decided it was time for libations.

“Oh, oh, god, I'm so sorry,” she said, trying to touch Crowley's face.

“Where is the alcohol?” Crowley asked loudly. Several hands pointed behind him and he nodded and headed for the bar.

“AJ! AJ! AJ!” Crowley could hear Freddie joyfully calling out his name but he couldn't spot him in the mess of people. Finally he spotted Freddie, in an immaculate and daring white suit, parting the crowds to come meet Crowley at the bar. “Hey, man,” Freddie said, reaching out and pulling him into a hug, “so great to see you. Looking sharp!”

“Hey, you too, quite sharp. How you doing?” Crowley still wasn't used to the warmth many of his friends in the industry extended to him; it felt great.

“Honestly, I'm doing great. Keeping real busy, you know, with the studio and all, but yeah. Excited to be here, check this out.”

“Yeah? Got anything I can hear?”

“I was hoping you'd ask. Hey, where's Bob? He sneak off or something?” Freddie asked casually.

Crowley couldn't stop his face from falling; he hadn't realized Freddie didn't know he and Bob weren't seeing each other anymore. “Oh, um, uh, well. We, uh, we split up. About a year ago.”

“Oh no.” Freddie looked embarrassed and concerned in equal measure. “I'm so sorry, AJ. You didn't tell me! You should have told me.”

“I-”

“You should have told me,” Freddie insisted with a pointed look.

“Yeah, you're right.” Crowley sighed. “I guess I didn't want to talk about it, and then some other stuff happened, and, well. You know how it goes.”

“You seeing someone else, then?”

“Um. Yeah.” Crowley paused, waiting for Freddie's reaction.

Freddie smacked Crowley lightly on the arm. “Yeah? Yeah? That's it? That's all you're gonna tell me, you're gonna tell me 'yeah, I'm seeing someone else,' and that's all I get? Damn, man. That's cold.”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed, his shiny copper hair flowing over his black shirt. “All right, all right. But at least buy me a drink first, man.” That got a laugh out of Freddie, who clapped Crowley on the back as he walked over to the bar to buy them some drinks.

* * *

After an hour of delays for schmoozing and drinking, everyone finally started migrating towards the theater. Crowley sat down in the cushy seat next to Freddie and slouched into the crushed red velvet. He'd done a lot of things in his existence, but he hadn't ever been to a movie premiere before. Much less one that he'd been even tangentially involved in. The lights dimmed, and the film started. A man, whom Crowley assumed was the protagonist of the movie, started walking around town carrying a can of paint, wearing a variation of the outfit that Crowley had been wearing to the studio, out and about, for years; red shirt with large lapels, black pants with a little bit of flow to them at the bottom. The man walked into a shop to put a shirt on layaway, and Crowley thought of Aziraphale. He'd really hoped to bring his angel to this, but it just didn't seem it was worth the risk, given Heaven's recent overbearing behavior. The plot didn't make too much sense to Crowley, and towards the end of the movie, there was a scene so upsetting he had to leave the room. Freddie shared his disgust and joined him in the lobby a moment later.

But the music? The dancing? All that was fantastic. Crowley hadn't believed Freddie when he nudged him during the first dance scene and told him that none of the scenes were filmed to the music that appeared on screen. Watching the movie with Freddie was a wonderful experience; he knew lots of details about the filming and made sure to lean over and whisper them to Crowley each time he deemed it relevant. Freddie's joyful laugh was always infectious, and he even shared his popcorn. Crowley wasn't really much on food, but he found the salty, buttery, crunchy bits a great accompaniment to sitting still for so long.

After the movie finished and after some additional schmoozing, they walked out of the theater and Crowley was shocked by the bright flashes of white light that began firing off the minute he and Freddie exited.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Freddie said, taking his fedora and plopping it on Crowley's head, “I should have warned you. I forgot it would be like this. Sorry. I know your, you know, your eyes are sensitive.”

“What the hell is all this?” Crowley asked, shielding his eyes with his hand.

“Paparazzi.”

“What?”

Freddie led Crowley to the curb, and when the “You know, all the photographers. Gotta get the photos of actors, singers, so on,” he said.

“That's weird shit, man.” Crowley imagined what Freddie’s life must be like now that he was such a well known producer. Apparently people wished to photograph him doing something so mundane as leaving a theater. He shook his head in disbelief.

Freddie cracked up laughing as they climbed into the back seat of the limo. “Sure is. What do you wanna do? You want to join everyone at the club?”

Crowley made a disdainful noise. “Ehhhhh. I'm wiped.”

“Oh, that's right. You just got in today. Should we drop you off at the hotel? I could go either way on the partying, but if you're not going, I'm not. I'm not gonna go.”

“Mmmm...well. I don't know. You got anything for me to listen to? At the studio?”

Freddie's eyes lit up. “I got a lot of stuff for you to listen to.”

“Let's do that, then,” Crowley said.

“I also have a lot of questions for you.” Freddie shot him a meaningful look, and Crowley raised his eyebrows in response. At the next stoplight, Freddie leaned up and asked the driver to take them to the studio; Crowley was amused by the fact that knew the route there by now. He'd done this though, hadn't he? He'd somehow gotten involved in the music industry, and he'd really gone off and ran with it. He knew he hadn't done nearly as much work as Freddie, or Donna, or any of his other friends, other clients in the industry, but he had been there. In it. Participating fully. A new feeling began to claw its way up Crowley's chest; thankfully, he didn't have too much time to analyze it before the car pulled up to Total Experience.

* * *

“Come on in, AJ,” Freddie said as he opened the door. “Make yourself at home. Gonna put on some coffee. The booze is under the console.”

“Sounds good,” Crowley said, walking to the control room and locating said booze (high end tequila, not bad), then once he heard Freddie heading back, “What you got for me to hear?”

Freddie plopped down two cups of black coffee, then fussed about with the playback until a piano glissando and a bright string riff began swirling through the air.

“Right, all right, man, who is this?” Crowley asked, his foot already tapping in time with the music.

“Band called Peaches & Herb.” Freddie took a sip of his coffee, then turned the volume up a bit. “So this is a whole production here, me and my friend Dino wrote every song on here, I produced it, you know, so we're – I guess you could say we're both pretty invested in it.

“Well, it sounds great.” Crowley liked it; the voices of the singers merged together well, and as always, Freddie's production choices kept the song exciting as it built up to the chorus.

 _We've got love_  
_We've got the world_  
_We've got the joy_  
_We've got the happiness_  
_That number one feeling_  
_That beautiful togetherness_  
_You are truly heaven sent_  
_With that magical ingredient_  
_Oh, we've got love_  
  
“Yeah, they're good. Good singers, both of them. You met Dino last time you were here, right?” Freddie asked.

“Um. Hmm. Sounds familiar, but I'm not sure,” Crowley said; most of the faces he'd met in the past few years blurred together.

“White guy, big curly black hair, big sideburns, usually dresses pretty sharp. If you met him, it would have been here.”

“Nah, don't think I met him.”

“All right.” Freddie nodded. “You'll have to meet him next time you're in town. I think he's going places. Hopefully he'll take me with him, eh?”

Crowley laughed at that, and Freddie pulled up another song, a slower one this time.

_I was a fool to ever leave your side_  
_Me minus you is such a lonely ride_

“This is nice,” Crowley said. “You write damn good songs, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” Freddie waited for Crowley to turn and face him before slapping his own knee and laughing loudly. “Hey, I don't even have to see your eyes to know you're rollin' them!”

“No, I guess you don't.” Crowley picked up his mug and downed the last of his coffee.

“I'm also really humble, if I must say so myself,” Freddie said, leaning forward and resting his forehead on the console, laughing at himself.

_We both are so excited cause we're reunited, hey, hey_

“Yeah, this is real nice.”

“I think this one's gonna be the secret weapon, to be honest,” Freddie said. “A good ballad never goes out of style.” Crowley nodded.

“I got a good feeling about this for you,” Crowley said.

“Let's hope so. I got bills to pay. What about you? What are you working on?”

“Well, I -”

“Oh, oh, and by the way, I haven't forgotten that you didn't tell me about what went down with you and Bob,” Freddie interjected.

Crowley paused and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm not quite sure where to start.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Freddie smacked him lightly on the arm, “I saw him a few months ago. Asked him about you. He just smiled, said you were doing great.”

“He did?” Crowley couldn't keep the genuine surprise from showing on his face.

Freddie nodded. “Didn't faze him at all. I mean. I know that he and James have their own sort of thing going.”

“Yes, that they do,” Crowley said.

“Was that it? I can understand if that's not for everyone. I don't think I could do it.”

“Sort of.” Crowley paused and slouched down in his chair a bit more. “I, uh, I have a partner too, and it's a long, complicated story – we weren't together when I was seeing Bob, well, we were, but not really – anyways, he wasn't really so into, you know, the whole thing.”

“Ohh.” Freddie said slowly. Crowley nodded and laced his fingers together over his abdomen.

“So, you got any other songs from the record?” Crowley asked.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait a minute,” Freddie said, “you think you're gonna get out of here before you tell me about your partner? I don't think so! Yeah, I see you blushing over there, Mr. 'I'm too cool,' you better tell me about this guy.”

Crowley laughed. “Well, uh, I'm not sure where to start, we, uh-”

“Listen, you better start somewhere.” Freddie suspected he was asking a lot of Crowley, to open up like this, and he was right; he kept Crowley up and talking, drinking, smoking, until his friend at last relaxed a bit and told him the minimum viable amount of information about his long-term partner. Crowley departed for his hotel around 4am. Freddie wasn't entirely satisfied with Crowley's continued mysteriousness and general withholding of information despite his pointed questions, but he did note the smile that lingered on Crowley's face as he was talking about this Ezra fellow of his. _But that's just how it goes sometimes,_ Freddie thought as he locked up the studio and headed home, somehow feeling completely clear headed and sober despite all they'd consumed. He found it even more strange when he woke the next morning more well-rested than he'd been in years, with no sign of the stubborn kink in his shoulder that had been troubling him for the past six months.

* * *

Thursday, 15 December 1977  
Soho, London

Aziraphale didn't really sleep, but last night had been particularly tough. He couldn't help but feel that he'd let Crowley down. Again. He tried to read, but couldn't focus. Once the city awakened, he decided to take a walk and get a pastry, perhaps stop by William's shop and say hello. Aziraphale threw on his coat and took the long way to his favorite patisserie. After a particularly delightful pain au chocolat, he was feeling more like himself; he was looking forward to seeing Crowley in the evening and hearing about the event. The angel was smiling and bopping his head back and forth to the song he'd had stuck in his head all night, 'Waterloo,' when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Aziraphale approached the newsstand and nearly dropped his cocoa as he confirmed what he thought he saw.

“Oh,” the word escaped Aziraphale's lips despite his best efforts. There Crowley was, literally on the cover of an entertainment daily. He felt a pang of jealousy upon seeing him with someone else (and someone so well-dressed), but was able to calm himself once he recognized the name, Freddie Perren. Crowley had talked about him often, warmly; Aziraphale knew he was strictly a friend. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd lost his chance to make Crowley _his_ in the way he'd always desired. Here he was, the angel who hadn't even so much as rearranged the bookshop in eighty years, who'd – just a decade ago – made such a fuss over the glacial pace of Crowley's continued gallant expressions of affection towards him. Aziraphale pursed his lips together and began walking back to the shop with purpose. Perhaps a change would do him good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I threw the entire Saturday Night Fever soundtrack on the playlist because there are so many cultural touchstones in there, it felt like it was worth it. Freddie Perren has been working on some exciting stuff and he will continue to work on it! 
> 
> The UK premiere of Saturday Night Fever was in late March of 1978, which is about when our next chapter will be set. Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments! I had another note I wanted to put in here and I forgot... I will see if I remember....


	38. Looking Down the Barrel of the Devil's Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale incorporates some changes into his life, or attempts to; he and Crowley think they have figured out the situation. And Crowley's fame is catching up with him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right my friends, we are in the home stretch. this is like a 12k chapter, and I imagine the last few chapters will be like this. thank you so much for all your comments and kudos and encouragement through this process. I feel good about wrapping up the story for you all. any words of encouragement and/or prayers are appreciated. 
> 
> Content Note:  
> In the beginning, there is a brief mention of a young gay character who has been kicked out of his house and is lying about his age in order to try to access some support. There is nothing that happens with this character that is untoward. I wrote the character as a young person of perhaps 18 or 19 who has been kicked out of their home due to being gay, and is now trying to survive. Just a warning in case that is a sensitive situation for anyone to read about.

Tuesday 7 February 1978  
The Bookshop

When attempting to make big, sweeping changes, it's often best to start small. No one who wants to make a big, sweeping change ever wants to hear that. Aziraphale thought that he was starting small, but. The first change was reaching out to Crowley once he was back instead of retreating into his own insecurity. He'd found the courage to share at least some of his feelings with Crowley, and had been met with the same reassurance he'd been giving out so freely for the past several months.

Then he'd done something that had been on his mind for at least half a century and rearranged the bookshop, primarily to accommodate the ever-growing Gay Men's Book Club. They were up to thirty-six regular members, and the record for most people present on a single night was sixty-one, which happened in the first meeting of the New Year. The next week, a very young man had come to book club for the first time, introducing himself shyly as Kip and claiming to be twenty-one years of age; the pointed looks amongst regular members indicated no one believed him. But he was polite, and kind, and listened with interest to the discussion.

Afterwards, Aziraphale watched as Kip stuffed his mouth full with whatever food was lying around; the poor thing was obviously quite hungry. One by one, everyone left, including Larry and William, who were almost always the last two people out the door. Kip did not seem to understand the increasingly unsubtle cues Aziraphale was throwing out, so finally he cleared his throat and gestured to the door.

“If you don't mind, Kip, I am going to attempt to finish up my work for the day. I hope to see you at our next meeting.” Aziraphale said, firmly, but kindly. He expected perhaps a brief angry outburst from the young man, but he did not expect Kip to throw himself at his feet and break down crying.

“I'm sorry, but,” Kip said through heaving sobs. “I don't have anywhere to go, I heard you were... you know...”

“Oh, for heaven's sake. Get off the floor. Come, now, there's absolutely no need for that,” Aziraphale said with the air of a grandmother who'd recently discovered someone in her home wasn't eating. “So you need a place to stay?”

Kip nodded at him through tear-stained eyes. “My mum threw me out a few months back after... after.” He didn't finish the thought; Aziraphale didn't need to hear anything else.

“Have you had enough to eat?” Kip nodded again. “All right, then,” Aziraphale continued. “Go on and head upstairs, if you'll go to the right, there's a guest room.” (Which had just been added to the floor plan.)

“Are you-” Kip started to ask.

“You don't worry about it all, do you understand? Now. I tend to stay up pretty late getting my work done, what with the shop and all. You just go on upstairs and make yourself at home.” Aziraphale shot Kip a rather pointed look, and the young man went upstairs to find a very comfortable bed and a pair of pajamas that somehow miraculously fit him perfectly. Aziraphale heard a bit of rustling around and then a blessed silence once Kip had fallen asleep. He sat down at his desk and opened up a book. He'd used more than a few miracles to set up a safe space for the young man, but that could hardly be called frivolous, could it? Wasn't it firmly in his job description to provide housing for those who needed it? Perhaps even a divine duty? Aziraphale sighed and snapped the book shut. He still hadn't figured out exactly how to deal with Gabriel; he was behind on work and here he had just worked a half dozen miracles just for the hell of it. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Tuesday 21 February 1978  
The Bookshop

Another Tuesday night meant another book club meeting, and another hour of socializing and catching up after everyone else had gone home. The discussion had turned to Bang; once the gang found out Aziraphale had been able to get in, they'd been unable to stop asking him questions about it. Aziraphale hadn't realized it was such a big deal to be able to go and of course, couldn't remember anything but the most basic details about it.

“Can't your partner get us in?” Larry asked.

Aziraphale paused. “Actually, yes, I imagine that he could. But-”

“Well, come on then!” Larry insisted. “What's the point of having a famous partner if you're not going to reap the benefits every now and again.”

“I would _never_ take advantage of Crowley,” Aziraphale said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Jimmy looked at him with a soft expression on his face. “Aww. That's so cute that you call him by his last name.”

Aziraphale felt a bit too exposed for his tastes. “It's just... something we've done for a long time.” He started fussing with a loose thread on his pants, magically mending it up without anyone noticing.

“But there is something else you need to do,” Larry said dramatically.

“What?” Aziraphale looked at the faces of his friends, all of them wearing the same pitying expression.

Sanjay placed a gentle hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. “You're... you're going to need to get some new clothes.”

“I'm – what on. Oh. Oh, oh, no,” Aziraphale said as he realized that his friends were all wearing variations of the same outfit: loud shirts and tight polyester pants. “I'm not, this is just _not_ my style. Not that it doesn't look smashing on all of you, of course.”

“That's what I said before I found my style,” William said. He was wearing a powder blue ensemble that looked rather distinguished against his skin and the grey coming in at his temples.

“Please, Ezra, we can go with you,” Sanjay added. He was wearing a loose flowing paisley blouse in shades of turquoise, green, gold, tan, and orange. Aziraphale noticed he'd started growing out his hair. After looking at the eager faces of his friends, the angel let out a long, dramatic sigh, and realized he'd lost this round.

* * *

Harrod's  
Friday 24 February 1978

“Come out already,” Sanjay called from the hallway of the dressing rooms.

Aziraphale had been in the dressing room for a good fifteen minutes trying on six different outfits, none of which he liked. At all. The trousers were all low cut and Aziraphale groaned as he tried to hitch them up even a bit higher, but each pair sat below his rounded tummy in a way that restricted his movement. The angel sighed. This was not good. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his body, it really wasn't that. Sure, he had a few moments now and then, just like everyone else occupying a corporeal form, but this was more about current fashions.

He emerged from the dressing room in an outfit quite similar to the ones he'd seen Crowley wearing, a shirt with large, dramatic lapels and a pair of bell bottoms. Although he'd chosen a flattering taupe for the pants and a classic white for the shirt, there was no making this style of fashion work on his body. He was not built for these times. The shirt was itchy and uncomfortable, and the trousers kept cutting into his hips.

The looks on his friends' faces said it all.

“Oh.” Then after a long pause, “...honey,” Larry said.

Sanjay, as always, was more diplomatic: “Perhaps it's the polyester. It might not be for you. I find it rather itchy, myself,” he said, as he sat in a pair of polyester pants that hung perfectly off his lithe frame.

It was simply not going to work. He was not an angel made for low rise pants. “This is taking far longer than I anticipated,” Aziraphale said primly, “why don't you all go out tonight and I shall – I shall endeavor to join you at another time.”

“No!” shouted all four men.

“You're gonna find something, Ezra,” William said. Aziraphale sighed and walked back into the dressing room. He was not going to find anything in the current fashions section that he would feel comfortable leaving the house in, and he was already overheating after a few minutes in contact with the scratchy polyester. Aziraphale was about to attempt to wriggle out of the trousers when he heard a soft knock at the door. He opened it to reveal the salesgirl who'd been helping him with far more patience than he would have had in the same situation.

“Hi, it's Molly again. Excuse me, Mr...? I didn't catch your name.”

“Just call me Ezra, dear,” Aziraphale said. There was a kindness on her face he hadn't seen in quite some time.

“It's my pleasure to meet you, Ezra.” She averted her eyes for a moment, very obviously trying to decide whether she felt comfortable enough to bring up the fact that she'd clearly overheard the conversation Aziraphale had with the men of the Book Club. Aziraphale, being an eternal creature of Divine Mercy, couldn't watch her stammer over her words and decided to broach the subject first.

“I'm sure you overheard my feelings on all the clothing I've tried on so far. As you may have gathered from my current wardrobe, I am just a bit old-fashioned in my sense of style,” Aziraphale said with a light-natured laugh.

“Your clothes are quite lovely, sir. I can tell they were made by hand.”

“You can?” Aziraphale's face lit up. How he did love discussing clothing.

“Oh, yes. I work nights on the East End sometimes. I love costumes. I mean, I know this isn't a costume, it's your _clothing_ , it's just. It's so finely made, it might as well be a costume,” Molly said.

“I'm quite flattered you noticed. I do so appreciate finely made things.” Aziraphale sighed.

“I think perhaps with a bit of tailoring, we could-”

“It's really not that I feel uncomfortable in my body, I quite enjoy it. As does my partner,” he said offhandedly, before feeling a hot flush rising to his cheeks.

She laughed. “That's good, and a change from what I usually hear at work.”

“I guess what I'm trying to say is...” Aziraphale trailed off as he remembered a few periods in which he'd presented as female and enjoyed all the frills, the lace, the corsets, the colors, the fine fabrics. Then his thoughts turned to the days of Rome, Greece, and before. “Goodness. I miss the days of being able to wear a lovely robe,” he sighed.

Molly looked at him with a glint in her eyes. “Wait here,” she said. “I think I have just the thing.” Aziraphale nodded and barely had time to sit down before she returned and peered through the door. “If you are perhaps open to a more creative interpretation of current fashions, well, um, I don't want to insult your um, your... your manliness, but-”

“Oh, Heavens, I don't care about that, dear,” he tittered.

“Good.” Molly beamed. “In my opinion, the women's section is where the magic is these days. What about something like this?” She stepped into the fitting room with four long, flowy, floor-length robes and caftans from the women's section. Aziraphale ran his hands over a powder blue polyester caftan dotted with silver stars.

“Well. Aren't you clever?” Aziraphale laughed.

“I'll leave you to try these on. Please let me know if you'd like a different size in anything. I pulled several, they're out here on the rack.” Molly smiled and exited, leaving Aziraphale alone with some much more exciting options.

A few minutes later, the angel radiantly emerged from the fitting room in a sparkly silver toga-style dress with a rainbow over the left shoulder. “How do we feel about this?” Aziraphale asked. The book club gang responded appropriately with a chorus of 'ooh's and 'aah's that he absolutely deserved. Oh, what a time it had been when everyone wore loose fitting, functional clothing; Aziraphale was convinced it would be at least another two thousand years before he got to wear anything like this. Such a pleasant surprise. He delighted in the feel of the soft fabric against his legs and stomach.

“Now that's more like it, sweetheart,” Larry quipped.

“I couldn't agree more,” Aziraphale said. He held up two other similar gowns; one a deep midnight blue with metallic threads running throughout and the other a very pale seafoam green with pleats. “Which one should I get?”

“You better get them all,” Jimmy said.

“Do it,” William added.

“When's the last time you bought yourself any new clothes?” Larry asked. Aziraphale opened his mouth, then realized it wasn't a good idea to mention the tailor he used to know around the turn of the century.

“It's been a while,” Aziraphale said as Molly carefully packed up his new dresses in tissue paper.

* * *

The Bookshop

Larry had convinced Aziraphale to let him 'do up his face' a bit for tonight. Within minutes, he had whipped out three makeup cases and was sitting in front of Aziraphale, excitedly staring at the angel's face. He started with a few sprays of rose water and then proceeded to buff foundation onto Aziraphale's forehead.

“Okay. Close your eyes. Is your man going to be there tonight?” Larry asked as he started working on Aziraphale's eyeshadow.

“No, unfortunately not,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his face as still as possible, “but he assured me everything is in order for us to get in tonight.”

“Oh, that's not – I was just thinking it's a shame he's not going to get to see you looking like this.”

“Well...” Aziraphale's face flushed as he remembered what he and Crowley had gotten up to in the past 48 hours, “I mean. He might get to see me like this. Later. Afterwards. He's got a session tonight.”

“The downsides to dating a celebrity,” Larry said wistfully. Aziraphale suspected there was a story there (or several), but he didn't push it. “What do you think?” he asked as he held up a pink plastic mirror.

“Ooh!” Aziraphale couldn't resist bringing his hands to his face, which was now covered in a champagne shimmer. There were touches of pink blush over his cheeks, and silver sparkles all over his eyes. “Oh, Larry. This is really – I feel so lovely, dear, really, you are a true _artiste_ ,” Aziraphale said before giving Larry two French style _bises_ on the cheeks. Larry rolled his eyes, but preened under the praise nonetheless. They walked back over to where Sanjay, Jimmy, and William were preparing for a night out. Everyone seemed to be deeply committed to getting alcohol into them before they headed out to the disco. “The drinks are too expensive, and the bar is too crowded,” Jimmy said before tossing back some scotch. As usual, it was Larry, dressed tonight in a red sequin dress and a full face of makeup, who whipped everyone into shape.

“All right, all right, all right. Yes, we do want to be fashionably late, but it is well past time for us to go.” Larry gestured upwards in a sweeping motion with his hand, drink up, and everyone downed what they had left before heading out into the night.

* * *

It was late, well past 2am when Aziraphale returned to the bookshop. He was sweaty, flushed, and tired, but exhilarated from an evening out on the town with his friends. It was fun, even if he had been glancing over his shoulder the whole time hoping to see Crowley behind the DJ booth or on the dance floor. The phone rang and the angel rushed over to his desk.

“Hello there,” Aziraphale answered rather coyly. He was certain it was Crowley.

“A _zir_ aphale.” It was _not_ Crowley. It was Gabriel, and Aziraphale nearly dropped the phone. Gabriel had never, ever called him on the phone, choosing often to label it as an “instrument of distraction.”

“Yes, hello. Hello, Gabriel, it is I, Aziraphale, of course,” the angel said, putting the professional holiness back into his voice. “How are you this fine evening?” He sat down at his desk, sloshing a bit of cocoa over the edge of his cup in the process.

“The light of holiness is always shining in Heaven, Aziraphale,” Gabriel quipped.

“According to my calculations, you were near a void location earlier this evening; I called to inquire about your findings. Is there any information you can share?”

The best lies were partially true; something Aziraphale had learned in a couple of thousand years of toothless half-truths to his immediate supervisors. “I... well, certainly, I was enjoying an evening out-”

“At the location?”

“I'm not entirely sure if it was the void location. I can't seem to pin down exactly where these locations are; I am following your coordinates and instructions, but, it's – it seems that, or perhaps-”

“It seems that _what_?” Gabriel asked sharply.

“I haven't the slightest idea why you are so interested in this particular location! Or any of them, really! This is absurd. I am months, if not _years_ , behind on blessings, on miracles, and most of my usual duties. I'm well aware you didn't ask, but this is an utter waste of time for all involved. I am certain there is nothing happening in these – well, _anywhere_ , really – that warrants such a response!” Aziraphale heard – no, felt – the silence on the other end of the line and grimaced. Heavens, he hoped he hadn't stepped in it too badly, but one angel could only take so much. He was thankful to be wearing a toga with a scoop neckline, as he felt quite the flush after firing back at Gabriel so forcefully.

“Well. I guess – I mean, you are the one who's down there all the time,” Gabriel stumbled over his words in a way Aziraphale hadn't heard before. “I uh, I apologize.” He said it so quietly that Aziraphale had to bite back the sassy 'I'm sorry?' that threatened to leap out.

Aziraphale settled on a curt, business-like “not a problem” and waited for Gabriel to speak again.

“Uh, well, that – that's all I needed to discuss with you. If you don't have any information yet, I'll just, uh, I'll just wait for your, your report,” Gabriel said. Aziraphale looked around. He had never heard his immediate supervisor sound so chastised.

“I'll be in touch as soon as I have any information for you. Good evening,” Aziraphale said before plopping the phone down on the receiver. He shook his head, and as he stood to stretch, the phone rang again.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said curtly.

“Uh, Aziraphale?” This time it was Crowley.

“Oh, goodness, Crowley, hello. I was hoping that was you on the phone earlier, but, ah, anyways. How was the-”

“Who called you earlier?”

“You won't _believe_ it,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially.

Crowley felt a wave of possessiveness wash over him. “Who?”

“Gabriel. Gabriel! Called me. Me! On the phone. He's never done that the entire time I've had this thing.”

“Huh. That's. Eh, that's weird, yeah? What's all that about?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Lately it's all about this absurd assignment. Well, he just asked me one too many questions and I'd – well, Crowley, I'd just about had enough and I told him as much.”

Crowley nearly dropped the phone. “You did what?”

“I've had enough! I really have! I don't understand what on earth is so important in these locations that could possibly be worth all this effort. It's just-”

“I'm coming over right now, Angel. You can tell me all about it once I get there.”

“Oh, right, all right, well-”

Crowley walked through the door before Aziraphale even had a chance to set the phone down. He strode across the shop at his usual speed, then stopped once he laid eyes on Aziraphale.

“Angel, you look amazing,” Crowley said, awed.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale blushed a bit, which Crowley noticed. “I was secretly hoping that you might get to see me like this.”

“I'm glad I did.” Crowley stepped forward and placed his hands around Aziraphale's waist. “I love this on you.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips together and wiggled his hips. “Well. Thank you.” He draped his arms over Crowley's shoulders and kissed him.

“You ought to let me take you shopping someday.”

“Ooh, well. I could possibly be _tempted_ into that,” Aziraphale said coyly.

“Noted.” Crowley took his hand and they walked back over to the sofa. “You want to tell me what happened tonight?”

Aziraphale sighed and flopped down on the sofa, then launched directly into something else that was new: a daily catchup of sorts with Crowley. He'd started shortly after Crowley had returned from LA, and it had grown into a ritual for both of them. At the end of their “day,” whenever that happened to be, they'd talk on the phone or in person to share the highlights. Aziraphale knew this was something all his friends did with their partners, or even with each other, but in six thousand years, he'd never dreamed it possible to be able to talk with Crowley every day. He'd quickly gotten rather used to it, and it seemed Crowley felt the same. More often than not, their daily recaps happened in the shop; there was a small, but growing, collection of Crowley's personal items scattered about on the first floor. The demon usually slept sprawled out on the sofa and Aziraphale stuck to his habit of reading until the morning light, but on the sofa next to Crowley instead of sitting at his desk.

It didn't take long for Aziraphale to bring Crowley up to speed about the odd call from Gabriel. Neither of them could figure out the urgency of the situation despite tossing ideas around for an hour or so, but Crowley was absolutely tickled by Aziraphale's dramatic retelling of how he stood up to his boss for the first time in recorded history. Crowley then relayed the story of his day in the studio, which had gone uncharacteristically smoothly.

“We could go check it out. Together. If you want,” Crowley said.

“I think that's not a bad idea. And now that I've gotten my hands on some new clothes, I'd also enjoy the chance to be seen with you, dear.” Aziraphale shifted on the sofa so Crowley could lay his head in the angel's lap.

“You always look amazing, Angel. Let's go tomorrow, then.” Crowley reached up for Aziraphale's face and the angel bent over to kiss him. “Maybe we can figure something out together,” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale's lips.

“Rest well, my sweet,” Aziraphale said as he stroked his fingers through Crowley's hair, which was now just past his shoulders, much to the angel's delight. Crowley hummed contentedly and quickly relaxed into a deep sleep. Aziraphale carefully reached over to grab a book from the side table.

 _How far they'd come_ , Aziraphale thought. Now it would be up to him to go the rest of the way.

* * *

Saturday 25 February 1978  
Charing Cross

Crowley and Aziraphale arrived at Bang just after ten; the queue outside was much longer than usual, even for a Saturday. Some innovative soul had hotwired a turntable and speakers up off a car battery and was blasting music just outside the entrance; it turned out to be a song Crowley knew well.

_Heaven's in the back seat of my Cadillac_  
_Let me take you there, yeah yeah_

The steady beat kept thumping as they worked their way through the VIP line, which was also much longer than normal. Crowley didn't have to do anything at the door except nod to the doorman and be waved in. One beat gave way to another as Crowley led Aziraphale by the hand into the club.

_Fire, fire, ooh, I'm on fire_  
_ooh, I'm on fire, baby, I'm on fire_

“Goodness, Crowley,” Aziraphale said after they finally made it through the narrow entrance to the main dance floor. “Is it always this crowded on a Saturday?”

“Nah.” Crowley maneuvered them into an open spot on the dance floor, perhaps using a bit of demonic energy to encourage everyone to give them a bit of breathing room. “There's something on tonight, Tallulah was going on about it last week.” The music began to fade and all the club's lights moved to focus on the DJ booth. There were two people in the booth; they both appeared to be male, but it was anyone's guess at this point. One person was dressed in a silver sparkly gown with large feathered wings and a crooked tinsel halo; the other person was holding a red plastic pitchfork and wearing an open black vest with a red feather trim. Crowley squinted and could make out some tiny red horns on his head. The DJ dressed in white picked up the mic and tapped it loudly.

“You're here for a very special night at Bang – it's time for a DJ battle! Our theme this week is Good vs. Evil!” he said dramatically into the mic. “The crowd decides the winner! Will it be the angels-” a large portion of the crowd started cheering and waving their arms around, “-or the demons?” It seemed like everyone in the club was absolutely thrilled by the concept. The DJ dressed in the white angel wings and silver tinsel halo began playing his first song; the distinctive opening riff and chimes of Tavares' 'Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel' echoed over the dance floor, and everyone, regardless of affiliation, began moving in time.

Crowley looked at the crowd, really gave it his full attention, and that's when everything started to snap into place. Angels to his left, demons to his right; people in giant fluffy white wings and others in red sequins with headbands and black horns. The DJ booth was decorated with silver stars and clouds on one side, red and yellow flames on the other. The reason the VIP area was open? There was apparently a costume contest for “best angel” and “best demon.” Dozens of people were in line to have their photo taken and walk before the “judges.” Everyone seemed to be playing along; Crowley noticed even the bartenders were paired off in matching outfits, half of them black and red, the other half gold and white. He flashed through all the hit songs he'd worked on in the past decade. It had been a pretty even mix of... oh... oh, wait...

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale,” Crowley said.

“Yes, dear?”

“I think I've figured it out.”

Aziraphale's face turned instantly serious. “You have. You have?”

“I think...” Crowley was suddenly overwhelmed as he realized just what he'd been a part of creating over these past few years. Somehow, the entire experience had pieces of himself all over it; both who he was, and who he loved. This was it. This had to be it. This was what they couldn't see. It wasn't just the clubs, the music, or what people were doing inside these walls, it was the whole concept; angels on one side, demons on the other, love and lust all mixed up together, creating something new. It had always been all mixed up inside of Crowley, and now...? Now it was mixed up _outside_ of Crowley, and everyone was mixed up in it. The demon felt his jaw drop and made no effort to close it.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale placed his hands on the demon's shoulders. “What is it, my dear?”

“It's – I – it's not just about the clubs, Angel,” Crowley said, processing the words as they left his mouth. “It's about – it's about all of it.”

“All of it?”

“I – I think I've rather ended up putting a lot of myself into this whole – all this, if you catch my drift.” Crowley pointed over to the photo booth, then to the bartenders, then back to the DJ booth. Stupid, he'd been so stupid. It had been this all along. And he'd been so desperate to send his emotions someplace that he hadn't envisioned what might happen after he sent them _out_.

“Well, dear, we are magical beings, with many powers,” Aziraphale said calmly.

“I _know_ that.” Crowley said it a bit more forcefully than he'd intended, only because he'd just now realized how much of Aziraphale was wrapped up in him, how much of his love for the angel had spilled from him and into the world at large. “But...” Crowley paused and bit his lip. “I guess what I'm trying to say is, there isn't much of a _me_ ,” he sucked in a breath and somehow found the courage to continue, “without you.” Again, he gestured to the DJ booth, hoping Aziraphale would pick up at least some of what he was trying to say. Well, saying it shakily and opaquely was better than not saying it at all, right?

Aziraphale stopped moving; Crowley looked distressed, but why? He let his hands wander over Crowley's chest, felt his heart hammering through his red polyester shirt. And then Aziraphale looked around the club with new eyes. He took in the silver halo and white robe of the “angel” DJ, the trio of sexy demons dancing next to them, the couples in line for the costume contest, an angel here, a demon there. Just as there were pieces of Crowley everywhere, there were pieces of Aziraphale here too; the angel saw himself reflected in the costumes, the joyful dancing, and the sparkling of the disco ball. Suddenly he realized what Crowley had been trying to tell him, had been trying to tell him all this time.

Aziraphale gazed tenderly into Crowley's eyes. “Crowley, I think it might be a good idea for us to-” The angel was interrupted by a blaring airhorn from the DJ booth. The 'demon' DJ pumped his fists in the air and made a dramatic show of dropping the needle on the next track.

_I've got the devil in me_  
_And I'm gonna do wrong tonight_

All right, time to focus. Crowley stared over Aziraphale's shoulder into space as he continued fitting the pieces together. “So it's about the whole concept, we think? At least, I think.”

Aziraphale had never been so disappointed by an interruption of a serious, emotional conversation. “I think you're onto something with that, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded. Okay, so Gabriel, and by extension Heaven, wanted to know the locations of disco clubs. But why? Why were they so obsessed with this? Surely there were worse things happening in the world than people dancing. “But it has to be more than just this,” Crowley said. “People are sinning, or whatever, all the time. Your side isn't quite as observant of all that as they claim to be.”

“Yes, I'd have to agree with that. Most of the work tends to fall on me, well at least here it does, that is, unless-” Aziraphale tripped over Crowley's foot, “-oh dear, I'm sorry, I'm not quite as skilled on the dance floor as-”

“Come here,” Crowley said, effortlessly pulling Aziraphale in for a slow dance.

_I'm gonna spread my wings_  
_and do a thousand things I've never done before_

They swayed together in silence for a while, Crowley smoothly leading Aziraphale, until an idea sparked in Crowley's mind. “Angel, didn't you say once – something like - 'nothing bothers Gabriel more than not knowing what's happening'?”

Aziraphale couldn't remember, but it sounded like something he'd say. “Um, that does sound like Gabriel.”

“Wasn't there that incident when your side and my side were both trying to take credit for a play or something once, and it turned out that no one in management knew anything about it?”

“Yes, there was that. There was also the time when I followed you to the magnetic south pole? I think it was just after the war. For that barbaric thing you were supposed to do. To the penguins.”

Crowley frowned. He hadn't been able to follow through on that particular horrific request from Hell. Aziraphale had helped him come up with a plan to 'thwart' the whole affair and take a brief holiday in the process. “How could I forget,” he said dryly. “Still can't believe that.”

“Oh, I know, dear, it was truly awful. I was happy to help.” Aziraphale suddenly felt the urge to kiss Crowley on the cheek and he rolled with it, planting a soft kiss onto a slightly surprised Crowley. “Two days after I got back, he showed up as a blinding flash of violet light in the shop, in the middle of the bloody afternoon, nonetheless. According to Gabriel, I 'disappeared from view' and there was concern I'd been discorporated.”

Crowley effortlessly kept perfect time with the increasing tempo of the song while continuing the discussion. “Yeah, yeah, I remember that now. Did we – we didn't really do much of anything while we were down there, did we?”

“No, other than the travel, we made sure not to use any miracles that time, remember?

“Right, right,” Crowley said, “because we were worried... that if we did... then they'd find us.”

“We thought that was...”

“We thought that was how they'd find us.” Crowley finished Aziraphale's sentence for him and moved just a bit closer. He relaxed into the warmth rolling off Aziraphale and had a realization. “What did you say earlier, about both of us being magical?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I believe I said that we were magical beings, with many powers.”

“Right. Right! That's what you said. Which is true.”

“Yes?”

Crowley remembered the first time he'd learned about phase cancellation. It had been during the mixing sessions for the Tavares album. He and Freddie had listened back to a mix together, and the drums sounded flat and lifeless, no matter what Freddie did to try and massage the sound. It turned out that two of the mics on the drums had been facing one another, causing certain frequencies to merge, or cancel each other out. Freddie had done an incredible job of explaining it; Crowley had forgotten almost all of the technical details, but he had remembered that it was always good to check mic placement, especially when having multiple mics on the same instrument. They'd moved the offending mics and done another take in order to fix it.

“What if,” Crowley stopped and held Aziraphale still with him, “what if this is all part of us just canceling each other out?”

Aziraphale's mouth fell open. “Oh...”

“You know? All this energy, and it's just sort of-”

“We've discussed this before,” Aziraphale said. It was true; they had. It had been part of the opening arguments for their 'Arrangement,' where Aziraphale would occasionally do Crowley's job and vice versa.

“Right, but we haven't ever – we haven't ever thought about the effects it might have.”

“Effects?”

“What if we're in here, and all this energy is bouncing back and forth, and it cancels each other out on the phase level. Or something, I don't honestly know what I'm talking about, really,” Crowley was rambling, but determined to reach some kind of conclusion, “but what if it's more than just being able to do each other's jobs. What if all the energy cancels each other out to the point where it can't even be seen?”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Aziraphale's eyes went wide as he realized the gravity of what Crowley was saying.

“All this,” Crowley gestured around, “it sort of feels like this has taken on a life of its own.”

“I'd have to agree with you. But I wasn't involved in creating this,” Aziraphale said, confusion etched all over his face.

“No. But you're in here.”

“Yes, yes, I'd say I ended up here.” Aziraphale was hit in the face by a white feathered wing as a woman in an angel costume shoved her way through the crowd. Crowley shrugged. “You've really outdone yourself here,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

“Guess I have.” Crowley hadn't intended for all his feelings to escape and live like this out in the world; he really hadn't.

“How would we know if your theory is correct?”

“Would Gabriel notice if you did something big?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, absolutely. You know how he is. What about your side?”

“I think if it was... dramatic enough, they might.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “All right,” he said slowly.

“Then we need to try something big. Bigger than this – bigger than just being here together.”

“All right, Crowley, I mean, what do you propose we-”

Everyone around them stopped moving as Crowley pulled out the biggest trick he knew.

“Goodness, dear, I didn't realize you knew how to do this.” Aziraphale, clearly stunned, brought a trembling hand up to his chest.

“Didn't know it would work,” Crowley muttered. The silence and stillness became uncomfortable after a few moments and the demon swirled his hand around to restart time. He and Aziraphale stared at each other as they danced half-heartedly, both their hearts pounding furiously as they waited for a reaction, an intervention, anything. After anxiously dancing their way through a few songs, it seemed there wasn't going to be an immediate reaction.

“Aziraphale, this might just be a shit theory but-”

“But, go on and say it, so that I'll know if you're thinking the same thing that I am,” Aziraphale interjected.

“I think Gabriel wants you in here because... I don't think either of our sides can see what's happening in here.”

“We are thinking the same thing then,” Aziraphale said solemnly. “And I believe you're right.”

“We gotta be a bit more sure than just believing at this point, Angel,” Crowley whispered. “So how do we put this theory of ours to the test?” Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but was again interrupted by a whooping noise from the DJ booth. Everyone in the crowd turned to look at the two DJ's, who had their arms around each other as the DJ dressed in black and red grabbed the microphone.

“All right, all you angels and demons out there, we said we had to agree on every third song, so consider this a truce,” he said into the microphone, over the familiar soft intro to Diana Ross's 'Love Hangover.' Crowley began swaying along the minute the hi-hat came in; he had always loved this song.

A steely look appeared in Aziraphale's eyes as he mirrored Crowley's motions as best he could. “Well, dear, I guess there's only one way to find out about all of this.” He took a breath and released his wings onto the visible plane, giving them a few shakes in time with the beat. Crowley's jaw dropped. “Come now, we've got to keep using these frivolous, unnecessary miracles and powers.”

Crowley shuddered as his wings burst forth. God, it felt good to stretch them out. He looked around them; not a single person was paying any attention to either one of them, despite their enormous outstretched wings. “How are you doing this?”

_If there's a cure for this,_  
_I don't want it, don't want it_

Aziraphale gestured upwards to the sparkly dome that enclosed them from the tips of their wings to where their feet were moving over the dance floor. “It may not look like much, but-”

Crowley laughed. “No sense in being humble when you're with me, Angel. I know you.”

Something about that simple, true statement hit Aziraphale in a tender place. “Crowley,” he said longingly before wrapping his arms around the demon's neck and kissing him. He tried to rein it in, but he couldn't stop his tongue from exploring the inside of Crowley's lip. Crowley moved closer so that his hips were swaying against Aziraphale with every beat.

_Think about it all the time_  
_Thinkin' only makes me smile and say, hey_  
_I don't wanna shake it_  
_I love the love you're making_

After being so close to Crowley on the dance floor, watching him move in time with every type of music, Aziraphale could only think about how Crowley's serpentine body moved when they were alone together. He was already so wet that he instinctively rolled his hips up against Crowley's thigh to try to get some friction going against his clit. The angel had already been rubbing up against Crowley for a few beats before he realized he was doing it and pulled away.

“Don't be shy,” Crowley said. “Use me.” He angled his body to grant the angel more access to his thigh. Aziraphale immediately grabbed Crowley's hips to steady himself and pushed up against the demon.

“You may regret making that offer, Crowley,” Aziraphale said as he looked up at the demon through those fluffy eyelashes.

“I assure you I won't.”

Aziraphale chuckled and tucked his face into the crook of Crowley's neck.

“I mean it.” Crowley's serious tone sent a shiver right through Aziraphale's body. The angel sighed and Crowley thought he heard Aziraphale say “I know,” but he wasn't entirely sure. Aziraphale reached for Crowley's hand and placed it on his thigh.

“Something else you need?” Crowley asked, teasing the moment out as long as he could; he knew this was the 12” mix and they had enough time left to do whatever it was Aziraphale wanted to do.

“I always want more from you,” Aziraphale said sharply. Crowley was briefly startled into stillness until he felt Aziraphale's hand guiding his through the fabric, right up against his cunt.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Here?” he asked.

“Here. Now.”

“All right,” Crowley said as he slid his fingers over Aziraphale's swollen clit.

“Besides, oh,” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley found a better angle, “isn't this part of the plan?”

“The plan?”

“Well, if we're – oh, yes – if we can do this, out here, and be left alone, perhaps...” Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to give voice to the hope he felt in this moment, Crowley's fingers inside him, Crowley's hand against his aching clit, Crowley's arm holding him steady, Crowley's wings stretched out above his.

_I don't want a cure for this_  
_I don't want a cure,_  
_I don't want a cure for this_

“Go on, take your pleasure.” Crowley's voice was low and raspy, the way it always got when they were intimate.

Aziraphale didn't know the encouragement would have such an effect on him. The angel set to enthusiastically fucking himself on Crowley's fingers. Crowley had, after all, told him to do it. He moaned into the crook of Crowley's neck as he tried to continue moving in time with the beat. Then Crowley brought his wings into alignment with Aziraphale's, his black primary feathers interlacing with Aziraphale's white ones. “Oh god,” Aziraphale moaned, “that's so good.”

“Yeah?” Crowley moved his wings in a rippling motion while crooking his fingers upwards inside of Aziraphale and stroking in slow, steady motions.

“Yes, yes, oh, yes,” Aziraphale was close; Crowley walked his hand up Aziraphale's back until he could grab a firm hold of the base of his wing. “Crowley! Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale cried out as he sank down further onto Crowley's fingers, braced against his thigh. The angel's hips lurched forward and he kept grinding his clit into the warm, slick-coated heel of Crowley's hand. Crowley managed to swivel his hips and his legs against Aziraphale in such a way that the angel to finally fell apart, his perfectly manicured hands tangled up in Crowley's hair as he came, gushing over Crowley's fingers and moaning against Crowley's neck.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, continuing to whisper encouragement as Aziraphale yanked at the roots of his hair and rubbed himself against Crowley's hand. “Yeah, Angel.” Crowley wasn't fond of taking a cock out on the dance floor unless absolutely necessary, although he had soaked through his own pants while watching Aziraphale toss his head back and grind against his hand in time with the music.

“Oh, Crowley, Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated over and over as he slowed his motions; his face was sweaty – shimmery? perhaps both? - and his eyes had taken on the half-lidded look they did when Crowley had done a good job of satisfying him.

“You all right there?” Crowley rubbed the small of Aziraphale's back, then kissed down the side of his neck, surreptitiously licking off a bit of his sweat at the same time.

“Yes, oh goodness, Crowley, I'm doing a hell of a lot better than 'all right,'” Aziraphale said as he brushed some of his hair off his forehead.

“Been quite a big night.”

“That it has.” Aziraphale's breathing had finally returned to normal. “I think I'm just about ready to head home.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, if you don't mind, that is.” Aziraphale batted his eyelashes. Surely, hopefully? Crowley would be up for more of this once they left?

“You seem pretty worn out all of a sudden.” Crowley was fighting to keep a grin off his face.

“Well, you stopped time and ah, we um,” Aziraphale, still flushed from coming all over Crowley's fingers, couldn't seem to find his words.

“Say it,” Crowley growled in Aziraphale's ear.

“And you,” Aziraphale licked his lips nervously. “You...”

“I want to hear you say it.” Crowley moved closer to Aziraphale. He was doing his best to appear slightly menacing, but mostly he was desperately aroused and hoping Aziraphale would be up for a few more rounds of this afterwards. He made a show of bringing his still-wet fingers up to his mouth and sucking the angel's slick off of them. “Say it,” he asked again. “I made you come on the dance floor-”

“-And you made love to me,” Aziraphale said, rather sheepishly, at the same time.

Crowley's eyebrows shot up and his mouth froze in an awkward position. “I...”

Aziraphale's sheepishness turned to mortification. “Oh, dear. I've – I think I've miscalculated, I didn't-”

Crowley, perhaps remembering his time spent as a creature of mercy, cut him off with a deep and passionate kiss, his fingers desperately grasping at Aziraphale's back. The angel threw his arms over Crowley's shoulders and clung to him. Then Crowley broke away and let his sunglasses slide down his nose; his yellow eyes flitting back and forth, searching Aziraphale's face. “I did,” Crowley said quietly, yet confidently, his jaw set, his chest out in a way that caused Aziraphale's knees to feel a bit wobbly. Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as they exited the club. It wasn't until they were on the street that Aziraphale noticed Crowley's entire body trembling like a leaf.

* * *

Friday, 31 March 1978  
London, United Kingdom

Hastur fumbled with his ticket stub, then decided to shove it into his breast pocket. He'd ended up having to clear a few memories in order to make it to the back of the movie theatre with a giant box of burnt popcorn kernels. He'd really wanted to be here for opening day, but it hadn't worked out like that; it wasn't like he could just go on and sneak on out of Hell whenever he felt like it. He had finally managed to tell a convincing enough lie about stirring up some evil. Then, he'd headed Upwards as fast as he could with only one thing on his mind: disco.

He'd been following Crowley's little hobby ever since he discovered one of Hell's favorite demons was responsible for many of his favorite songs. Oh, sure, everybody on Earth swore up and down that 'the devil loved to dance,' but Hastur knew the truth: _Crowley_ loved to dance. And it was Crowley who was responsible for the disco craze sweeping the world and all the associated brouhaha. To be honest, he was a bit jealous; he'd always been envious of Crowley's ease, his mind, the way he got to spend all his time doing whatever he wanted, causing mayhem. Hastur sighed. Sometimes it felt like Crowley didn't like him. He'd give anything to be able to run around and cause trouble with Crowley. A contented smile landed on Hastur's face as the lights went down and the film started.

Two hours later, Hastur left the movie theatre and wanted to do nothing but dance; the sun had already gone down, and he briefly wondered if he could get away with staying out all night. He could go to a disco, he could... what could he do... he could conjure up a ton of drugs! He could get everyone as high as a kite and stir up a bunch of low-level lust, something like that. He knew he was close to one of the disco clubs that kept popping up all over the world. Hastur allowed himself a few moments to pretend that he was on his way to a disco floor wearing nothing but a sequined thong and a cowboy hat. Then he sighed; as he turned around to head back to the portal he'd opened up earlier, he saw something that gave him pause: a newsstand, and on the front cover of a magazine, a familiar face. Hastur slowly walked over and picked up the latest copy of _Melody Maker_. Crowley was on the cover, wearing a red blazer, red bell bottoms, a black shirt, and of course, his trademark sunglasses. Underneath, the caption: “disco demon.” Hastur barked out a laugh. “You've really gone and done us so very, very _wicked_ , Crowley,” he said to himself, grinning, tracing his finger over the cover.

He knew he definitely couldn't go to a disco; he hadn't been sent up here, he'd decided to come, and that was something that might land one in trouble Down Below. However, bringing back a few magazines could possibly cancel out his transgression. It wasn't even that severe of a line-cross, Hastur rationalized to himself, Crowley had gone and made all this fucking great music, all for the glory of Hell and in eternal service to Our Dark Lord, and what, no one from Below was going to be able to enjoy it? Seemed like a bit of a raw deal. He punched the newsstand clerk in the face, stuffed his coat full of publications, then vanished in a puff of sulfur-scented smoke.

He waited until he was fully Below to remove everything from his coat; he'd learned the hard way about incinerating important documents before they reached their intended destinations. Once back in Hell, he made his way directly to Beelzebub and bowed his head in deference.

“How can I help you today?” Beelzebub asked flatly.

“My Lord, thought you might like to see this,” Hastur said, approaching Beelzebub with a stack of newspapers and magazines, Rolling Stone, Billboard, and something called Today's Music Fashions. Hastur had dog-eared a page for Beelzebub to read.

“Well, what do we have here...” Beelzebub said as they figured out why Hastur had marked this page. A photograph of Crowley and Freddie Perren walking down the stairs of the Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles, in glossy full color nonetheless, graced two whole pages of the magazine. Beelzebub hummed as they read the description:

_Music producer AJ CROWLEY is known for his work on multiple hits, including chart-toppers by THE TEMPTATIONS and THE OHIO PLAYERS; you might also know some of his more recent work with TAVARES, THE TRAMMPS and most famously, the one and only DONNA SUMMER._

_After the Saturday Night Fever premiere, however, we predict it won't be long before he's also known for his devilish good looks. Pictured is AJ CROWLEY with producer FREDDIE PERREN at the Los Angeles premiere of Saturday Night Fever, December 14th 1977. AJ is wearing a red (designer unknown) shirt with what appears to be vintage gold jewelry. FREDDIE is dressed in a white OSCAR DE LA RENTA suit featuring a red tie by DIOR. We love the combination of the informal and the formal. Friends who dress so sharply tend to make waves on the town! Rumor has it that AJ was involved in a darkroom accident as a child, hence why he wears his sunglasses all the time, even at night. Might be a bit odd, but when they're so stylish, who cares? We predict this trendsetting music producer will soon be setting some fashion trends. We'll be following him closely!_

Beelzebub said nothing, but let out a series of satisfied buzzing sounds that Hastur took to mean they were pleased. He smiled as he walked out of the throne room and back to his squalid quarters. He triple locked his door (not that it mattered), and waited for the corridor to be quiet before he pulled a narrow cardboard tube out of his sleeve and slowly opened it up.

He unrolled the Saturday Night Fever poster and stuck it to the wall using his tacky, foul-smelling saliva. Hastur couldn’t help but chuckle at the triple thrill of sneaking up to see a movie, stealing a poster directly from the theater, AND hiding all of it from his supervisors. “ _Saturday night fever, night fever_ ,” he sang poorly as he exited his room and strolled back down the hallway.

* * *

8 April 1978  
Kensington, London

Crowley had just left Freddie Mercury's house; he'd been invited over for an unusual daytime event that turned out to be a songwriting session. He had rather enjoyed the afternoon, it was only the second time he and Freddie had spent time together so informally. Freddie had gone out of his way to invite him to participate in the recording sessions, which he thought would be happening in the late spring or summer, and Crowley had agreed enthusiastically. He found himself humming the bits and pieces he could remember as he walked back to the Bentley. Just as the car came into view, a familiar smell crept upon the tip of Crowley's tongue. He froze, then heard a familiar voice.

“Well, if it isn't the demon known as Crawly.” It was Beelzebub, stinky and surrounded by flies like normal. For a second, the odor almost made Crowley feel a bit nostalgic for Hell; the operative word being 'almost.'

“It's _Crow_ ley now,” Crowley said dispassionately, crossing his arms.

“Well, if it isn't the demon formerly known as Crawly,” Beelzebub said flatly.

“Yep, ah, here I am. So, uh. What brings you above?”

“You. You're going to come with me,” Beelzebub said, waving their hand to reveal a spiral staircase headed downwards.

“Me? What do you want down there with me? Aren't you lot keeping busy enough, what with,” Crowley scrunched his face into a grimace and gestured around haphazardly, “all the... happenings?”

Beelzebub tilted their head. “Doesn't matter. You haven't been down for a hundred years or so. Come now. Down you go.”

“Listen, I've got some things I really need to take care of. How about I just hop down later. Maybe after dinner,” Crowley said, imbuing his voice with every bit of persuasion he could muster.

Beelzebub shook their head and chuckled. “I came up to get you myself, therefore, you're to come immediately.” They held their arm out, directing Crowley to the stairs. “After you, good sir.”

Crowley sucked in a deep breath, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and sauntered down the spiral staircase as slowly as possible. If he was going to go out, he was going to do it in style, dammit.

* * *

It had been a while since he'd been down, and everything was as bad, or worse, as he remembered it. The stench, the low ceiling, the black mold, the tragic graphic design. Crowley did his best to keep up his cocky strut as he followed Beelzebub down hallway and corridors. Surprisingly, they did not lead Crowley to the main hall; rather, Beelzebub headed straight for their office, somewhere Crowley hadn't been in... oh god, he couldn't even remember when.

“Come on in,” Beelzebub said casually. They walked behind their desk and grabbed a bottle with a large skull as the stopper. “Want any? My special blend. Arsenic and hemlock.”

“No thanks,” Crowley said as he sat down.

“So. Crowley. What you been up to lately?” Beelzebub asked, pouring the turquoise poison right out into thin air. It knew what was good for it, and held its shape as though it were suspended in a glass.

Crowley answered by making a low sort of garbled noise that got trapped in his throat and shrugging.

Beelzebub let out a low chuckle. “You smell different.” They leaned forward, too far forward, into Crowley's personal space, and took a deep inhale, then wrinkled their nose. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you smelled _holy_ ,” Beelzebub said before sitting down.  
  
Crowley scoffed. “Holy. That's funny. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked, putting forward as much confidence and cockiness as he could.

“You've been up to quite a bit. Unlike you to be so humble. That's not how we do things down here,” Beelzebub said, spreading out several publications on the desk. Crowley, on the cover of a music fashion magazine. Crowley, sitting in a studio looking rather seriously into the live room, Crowley with one of his best friends, who also happened to be one of the most famous singers in the world at the moment.

“Yeah. Well.” Crowley stared flatly at Beelzebub as they pulled up an autographed copy of “Fire” by the Ohio Players.

“Is this your work?” Beelzebub asked.

Crowley crossed his arms. “Not sure what you mean by that. But wait - where'd you get that?”

Beelzebub ignored Crowley's question. “Oh, I believe you do know. 'Runnin' from the Devil'?”

“Do you know how any of this works?” Crowley asked.

“Spare me,” Beelzebub said. “Is this your doing?” Now a copy of Donna's 'Love to Love You, Baby,' a first pressing, none the less. Crowley, rapidly blinking behind his sunglasses, didn't even know what to say at this point. “What about these?” Beelzebub asked, holding up the 12” of 'Disco Inferno' and a copy of 'Disco Duck.'

Crowley made a show of sighing and did his best to appear bored out of his mind. “You know, all the names are on the inside of the jacket, I'm not sure why you needed to call me all the way down here to discuss it.”

“You really don't get it, do you?” Beelzebub chuckled. “This is one of our biggest wins in years.”

“Come again?” Crowley asked.

“I'll explain, but just - do you mind if I put on my favorite song?” Beelzebub asked, somewhat shyly.

 _What the fuck is happening here_ , Crowley thought. “Sure...?”

“This one's good. It's been getting a lot of play down here.”

“Down here?” All Crowley could do at this point was repeat the words Beelzebub kept throwing at him.

“Oh, yes. It's all anyone wants to listen to. Well. Disco, that is. It's all Hastur's doing. He got everyone else all fired up about it, and well, here we are.”

Beelzebub opened a record and set it against the wall. A needle with a set of eyes on it emerged from the wall and an uptempo track with a driving rhythm guitar took off. Crowley didn't recognize it until the lyrics started:

_Fee fie, fo fum_  
_I'm looking down the barrel of the devil's gun_  
_I said, nowhere to run_  
_Gotta make a stand against the devil's gun_

Crowley watched as Beelzebub danced and sang along to the song; even the flies buzzing around them were moving in time to the beat.

“This is a great song,” they said loudly over the music.

“It's a good one, yeah,” Crowley responded honestly.

“All right, well. Back to business.” Beelzebub swished their hand around in the air to bring the volume down. “This whole disco thing. It's the best thing to happen for our side in a very long time, Crowley.”

“Well, you're right, now I really don't get it.”

_Better make a move now (well, well)_  
_You know there ain't no time to lose now_

“You've been at work in this industry for over a decade, planting the seeds of discord, and you don't even realize the genius of what you've done,” Beelzebub said, chuckling. “They're saying Hastur snuck out to see your movie; by the way, if I ever get him to shut the fuck up about it, I will consider it a demonic miracle."

“ _My_ movie...” Crowley trailed off as he realized they were talking about the very small amounts of work he'd done to contribute to Saturday Night Fever.

“Yes, _your_ movie.” Beelzebub pulled out a copy of the soundtrack. “This is just, it's downright diabolical. Don't you see what you've done?”

_Oh, well, his finger's on the trigger, he's waiting to deliver_  
_Can we ever figure out the way to make the people shout?_

Crowley brushed his hair off his shoulders. “All in a day's work,” he said as casually as he could.

“Oh, stop the bullshitting, you smooth fucker. This music, everything about it is... it elicits such strong emotions from everyone. And really, the best of our inventions always do that. People always get so fired up about whatever it is, that the reaction becomes more important than the thing itself.”

“Ah. You've got a point there.”

“I've read all these magazines, and loads of others too. So many people absolutely hate disco, surely you're aware of that?”

“I mean...” Crowley thought about it, “I – yeah, everybody's got their, things they hate, I guess.”

“Right, but the people who hate disco; they really, _really_ fucking hate it. They despise it, they absolutely loathe it, and it seems to just-” Beelzebub was gesturing furiously now, in the way they did when they were really passionate about something, “-absolutely enrage them. People are so bloody angry about it! There's entire articles in the paper, radio shows where people rant on and on about how much they hate disco.”

“Hmm. All right.”

“And then – then – there's the people who love it, and what a pleasure-seeking lot they are,” Beelzebub pulled up a well-worn copy of the New York Times with some telltale singe marks on the edges, “Apparently they're all into stuff like this?” On the cover of the entertainment section was a photograph of several shirtless and sweaty men grinding up against one another, above a photograph of a drag queen surrounded by three bare breasted women whose nipples were covered only by glitter pasties. “Don't even get me started on what I've heard about all the drugs.”

“Uh, yeah,” Crowley said. It was true, things tended to get a bit wild in the clubs, but...

“I guess it's considered a sin now for people of the same sex to... you know?” Beelzebub made a crude gesture with their hands.

“Mmm, err, I don't really know much about that.” Crowley tried desperately not to think of Aziraphale beneath him, writhing and moaning in pleasure.

“You also somehow got all the religious folk out here protesting their good 'Christian' values or whatever the heavens they're calling it these days, how ridiculous, so they're angry too. You've just about managed to piss off the whole bloody world with this. And I haven't even gotten to the people who hate it because of the clothing,” Beelzebub said, gesturing to Crowley's attire. “Loads of drugs, all the sex, this entire situation is nothing but wins for our side. I can't believe you pulled this off all by yourself, Crowley.”

_Don't wait, hesitate, or it's gonna be too late_  
_Flames are getting higher, got to jump out of the fire!_

Crowley licked his lips and decided to lean into what appeared to be the best lucky break he'd gotten in ages. “Yeah. You're right. It was all me,” Crowley said, knowing full well it wasn't. He kicked his long legs out and plopped his feet up on Beelzebub's desk. They rolled their eyes before letting their mouth rise into a devious smile.

“I always knew you were one of the best. Are you sure you don't want some of this?” Beelzebub gestured to the roiling blob of poison moving around on his desk.

“Yeah, I'm good, thanks.”

“You've really outdone yourself, Crowley, and I want to reward you.”

“You want to reward me?”

“Yes, that's what I said.” Beelzebub stood again and danced to the chorus once it returned. “Name your price.”

_Fee fie, fo fum_  
_We're looking down the barrel of the devil's gun_  
_I said, nowhere to run_  
_We gotta make a stand against the devil's gun_

Crowley really couldn't believe it. He'd been given what seemed to be a miraculous dose of luck. Perhaps it was time to try to ask for the only thing he'd ever wanted from his side. “I want a holiday.”

“A holiday?”

“You heard me.”

“You did all this work for Our Dark Lord over the course of a few decades and all you think to ask for is a bloody holiday? Not a sacrifice, a permanent throne down here, or – I don't know – even a small curse? What in the brimfire is wrong with you, Crowley?”

“I. Want. A. Holiday,” Crowley spat, emphasizing each word. “I've spent all this time doing, uh, bringing _glory_ to you know, all of us, and _Him_ , and I deserve a little something, for all my hard work.”

“Hmm. No one's ever asked for a holiday before,” Beelzebub said, running a hand over their chin. “Then again, no one's done something quite like this. I guess I can allow it.”

“And I want to be left alone,” Crowley added, a slender finger pointed at Beelzebub.

“Oh.” Beelzebub paused. “I suppose that's doable. Got other demons available to cause trouble if needed, or, you know, whatever.”

“A decade sounds about right to me.” Might as well ask for something big.

“A decade?” Beelzebub asked.

“It's not that long in the grand, eternal scheme of things,” Crowley drawled. “Besides, it took me way longer than a decade to set all this up, you know.”

“But it's a long time for everyone up there! What if there's... some sort of good deeds going on Above and we have no idea about it?” Beelzebub looked slightly more cross that usual.

“You're the one who keeps asking me what I want out of this. That's what I want.”

Beelzebub laced their fingers together and placed their hands in front of them on the table. “You are the only one who's been allowed Above for any significant part of time. There's no one else who can keep their finger on the wicked pulse of humanity in quite the same way.” Crowley remained silent, watching Beelzebub's minute tells show up all over their face. “You'll still need to send occasional... updates.”

Crowley laughed. For hundreds of years, his “updates” had consisted of telling creative lies to Hastur. “You make sure Hastur comes up every now and then, and you'll get your updates.”

“And I, uh – that is, we – reserve the right to recall you into active service should it, you know. Should it be time,” Beelzebub said.

“The time? Ahh, yes, the Apoca-”

“Don't – don't say it aloud. Not here.” Beelzebub glanced around nervously.

“Well. I should hope that you would call upon one of your finest soldiers when it's time for The Big One,” Crowley said, his voice dripping with feigned self-confidence. It seemed to be working on Beelzebub, who was now looking at him as though he were someone of importance. Perhaps he was.

“Ah, then.” Beelzebub paused, then held their hand out. “I suppose we have a deal.”

Crowley shook Beelzebub's hand. “As good as a deal as two demons can have with one another, I guess?”

Beelzebub smirked. “As good as deal as two demons can have with one another.”

Crowley slapped his thighs, then stood. “I take it I'm done here, then?” His legs felt like jelly, but he knew he couldn't let it show.

“Have a nice and jolly _holiday_ ,” Beelzebub said.

“Oh, I plan on it.” Crowley slowly turned to leave.

“Just remember, Crowley; it was our side who invented loopholes.”

Crowley stopped. “What?”

“You heard me. Enjoy your time off.”

Crowley almost said thank you, then thought better of it. He grunted and issued a weak salute on his way out. Loopholes... loopholes... what exactly did Beelzebub mean by that? Crowley sauntered towards the exit and decided not to think about it until he was safely back Above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay thank you all for following along. I appreciate and cherish every one of your comments and kudos and thoughts shared with me on twitter! I am excited to hear the reactions as we come to a close. Thank you for all your support.


	39. Thanks From Me and This Heart of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up after Crowley's trip to Hell...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is continuing to follow along with the story and leave such lovely and encouraging comments! I am doing my best to keep up with this as I started a new job and have been working like, 50 hour weeks lmaoooo. I went from being totally unemployed to being too employed and I'm still adjusting to having a really really intense work schedule. hopefully things will level out soon, fingers crossed. thoughts and prayers appreciated. Thank you again for being here with me on the journey! This isn't a music heavy chapter as the next one is. all right. here we go.
> 
> also chapter count has been updated again because I think it's easier to wrap up shorter chapters but probably still between 43-45 chapters. we're movin' and we're groovin'

Thursday 8 April 1978  
Kensington, London

Crowley didn't actually believe he was going to make it safely out of Hell until he was standing back on the street, next to the Bentley. The light was exactly the same; it was as if no time had elapsed at all. His hand trembled as he opened the door and climbed into the safe haven of his car. God, he'd always hated how prone he was to shaking. He put his hands on the steering wheel and stared at the spaces between his fingers for what felt like hours. Crowley had learned long ago never to trust anyone in Hell, and he was glad to know enough to be extremely suspicious of Beelzebub's capitulation to his demands, as well as the rather ominous warning they'd dished out. It was probably best to assume that absolutely no one from his side would keep their word. On the other hand, Hell wasn't exactly full of the hardest workers in the universe; sloth and laziness were desirable traits, and generally getting promoted (or demoted) was all a matter of whose boots you'd been licking. The rattling sound of a loud lorry passing by jolted Crowley from his confusing mess of thoughts. The Bentley started up without needing to be told, and it wasn't long before he was safely back in his flat, trying to make sense of what had just transpired. He was about to toss on a record when the phone rang.

“Yeah, hello,” Crowley said brusquely.

“Uh, yeah, hello.” It was Donna, who immediately opened the conversation by parroting back his flat tone. “Is that how you answer the phone these days?”

Crowley laughed and felt an immediate release of tension from his shoulders. “Well, well, well, if it isn't the world-famous disco diva, Donna Summer.”

“Shut up.”

“You've sure been busy.”

“Oh, AJ, I know, god, I feel so bad. I've been so out of touch, and-”

“Oh. No, no – no. None of that. That's not what I meant. Just been following the news lately and your name is all over these papers, missy.”

“Yes, that's how it goes sometimes. Well, if you're lucky, that is.”

“Oh, yes, and you have-”

“Enough with the industry bullshit,” Donna said. “I wanna know how you are. Tell me everything.”

“You know,” Crowley picked the phone up and walked over to the window. “I think I'm doing good,” he said as he looked out over Soho.

“You think you're doing good? How's Ezra?”

“He's really good, yeah, doing really good.”

“And how are... you know, the two of you?”

Crowley hadn't spoken to Donna too often in the past year; the time difference had made it difficult to catch one another, and much of their correspondence had consisted of leaving messages for one another and occasionally sending cards. She'd been out of town the last three times he'd been in LA for work. It wasn't surprising; Crowley had entertained a few human friendships over the years and he knew the reality of being mortal meant humans went through life changes that he would never experience.

“Things are great. I honestly can't believe how great they are,” Crowley said.

“That's amazing!” Donna squealed. “Are you living together yet?”

“Oh, well – I don't – I'm not sure Ezra is ever going to give up the shop, which is fine, you know, I'm gone a lot. There's, I mean, you know how it goes, being busy and all, but it's been really nice. It's really, really nice.”

“Aww,” Donna said, and Crowley could hear the particular smile that was currently on her face, “I knew he loved you from the first time I met him.”

Crowley wasn't drinking anything, but choked just the same.

“You okay, AJ?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I'm all right.”

There was a pause on the line and Crowley knew she was deciding whether or not to discuss the issue further. She eventually decided to ignore it, continuing the conversation with her own love story. Crowley was thrilled to hear all the details of Donna and Bruce's new life. It was serious, and he could tell it was going to work out for her. Turned out she wasn't too crazy about living in LA, but being with Bruce made it worthwhile. Crowley figured she'd miss living in Europe, and he was right, but he also knew being in LA would open up more career opportunities for her. They chatted a bit about her recent work; Crowley shared some of what he'd been up to, nothing too exciting, and then Donna launched into the details of her upcoming tour.

“It starts in a few months. I'm gonna be in LA for three nights. You should come!”

Crowley fished around in his desk for a notepad. “What's the date on it?”

“Hmm... I'll be... I'll be performing in LA the 17th, 18th, and 19th. Of June.”

“Huh,” Crowley said.

“Hmm what?”

“Well, that's right before Gay Freedom Day, or weekend, whatever it's called now, I was thinking about going up there with some people and-”

“Oh, AJ, please come to the show, please, please, please-”

“Okay, okay, I think I can make that happen I just need to-”

They kept talking over one another until Crowley finally agreed. “Yes, okay. I will come.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes! Of course. I promise.”

“Do you think Ezra will come with you?”

“Well, I certainly hope he wants to come with me, whether he's able to get away or not is, you know, that's another story.”

“I will show you both the best time you've ever had. Please. You gotta get him to come.”

Crowley laughed. “Well. You know he's been running book club for gay men. Wait, did you know that? Have I told you that.”

“No,” Donna said slowly, “but I haven't exactly been the best at keeping in touch.”

“Yeah well, he's been doing this night, a book club at the shop. It's gotten pretty big, about sixty people are showing up now.”

“That's amazing!”

“It really is, I've never seen him so, uh, so engaged in something like this.” It was true; in several thousand years Crowley had only ever seen Aziraphale demonstrate an interest in maintaining relationships like this when it was mandated by his employers. “I was planning on using that as the motivation to get him over to San Francisco.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, uh,” Crowley hadn't ever really talked about this with anyone, but he felt comfortable saying it to Donna, “when I went to Gay Freedom Day, it really affected me, you know, seeing everyone together. People marching, dancing, it was... it was something.” Donna hummed, and in his mind's eye, Crowley could see her nodding. “I think... Ezra would feel something like that, too.”

“Then we've got to make sure he comes with you,” Donna said matter of factly.

“Any suggestions you have to get him to leave the country are welcome.”

“Oh, we'll come up with something, and – oh, hello!” Crowley heard an indistinct man's voice in the background. “All right, love, it's been wonderful talking with you. It's about time for my lunch date, so I've sadly got to let you go.”

“Don't you apologize. Say hello to your man for me.”

“AJ says hello,” Donna said immediately. “Bruce says hello. And he says he's looking forward to meeting you and Ezra in June, when you come to the tour shows.”

Crowley laughed. “I guess I've got to make it happen then.”

“That you do. Hopefully we talk soon. Don't be shy, okay? Call me.”

“I absolutely will.” Crowley heard the sounds of the receiver settling into the cradle and hung up the phone. He stood and stretched out a bit, popping a few sections of his back and neck. Maybe they meant it. Maybe he was about to be left alone for a while. Then the only problem would be how to go back to being under Hell's control after being given the space to live as he wanted. What a day. Crowley knew it wasn't a good idea for him to be alone, and he needed to talk to Aziraphale. He grabbed his jacket and headed back out. He could be at the bookshop in five minutes, and then perhaps he'd gain some perspective on all of this. And a night in Aziraphale's bed would surely take the edge off...

* * *

Earlier that day  
The Bookshop, Soho

Aziraphale had been on edge for the past few weeks; surely if Heaven knew he'd been working miracles and magic on the level he did at the club, they'd reach out? Surely they would. Heaven had always been so watchful, so observant. And so... punitive. There would be no reason for policy to change so dramatically in the midst of an ongoing assignment.

However, Aziraphale had always been prone to anxiety and wanted a more definite answer. He decided to summon Gabriel with some angelic correspondence in the traditional fashion. As soon as he sent the communication off, the angel felt his mood lighten and he was able to get back to unpacking the shipment that held the latest book for the club. That is, until the phone rang.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said brightly. He was supposed to meet William for lunch and was expecting to hear the florist's deep, friendly voice on the line.

“Hello, A _zir_ aphale.”

“Good after- good day, Gabriel.”

“You summoned me?”

“Ah, yes, indeed I did.” This was highly unusual. Gabriel hadn't called Aziraphale in the entire time he'd owned a phone. “Are you certain this is an appropriate medium of communication?”

“Oh yeah, She's decided it's fine. I think She just needed to see the benefits of it before coming to a decision.”

“Right, then.”

“So, what's on your mind?”

Aziraphale gulped. “Well, I – I just wanted to check in about the Assignment.”

“What about it?”

Oh, so he wasn't going to give a single thing away. So that was how it was going to be. “I haven't heard from you in a while, and-” Aziraphale paused and tried to find the right angle to work; sucking up to the boss was usually the best option, “-seeing as how this is such a priority project, I just wanted to make sure that I was up to date on the most recent developments.”

“Ahh.” Gabriel hummed a few lines that Aziraphale immediately recognized as 'Climb Every Mountain' from the Sound of Music. Aziraphale bit his lip and mouthed the words 'bloody fucking dammit' to himself while he waited for Gabriel to respond. After what felt like an eternity, the Archangel spoke. “Sorry about that, I was looking over some additional information here. From where I sit, I haven't seen any major changes since the last time we spoke.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said cautiously. Could it really be true that Heaven hadn't seen or even been aware of his absolutely frivolous use of angelic power in the club with Crowley?

“So, you know. Keep up the Good Work!” Gabriel exclaimed. “And let me know if you need anything.”

“I, uh, I shall keep the light of Holiness shining.” Aziraphale was fumbling for a way to close out the conversation with Gabriel when he heard the loudest click he'd ever heard over a phone line. “Right bastard,” Aziraphale muttered to himself as he set down the phone. He ran his hands over his trousers. It didn't seem real. But he'd just talked to the Archangel Gabriel, who seemed to have no idea of what he'd been up to in the club with Crowley. Or, any of it, really. Aziraphale rifled through a stack of papers on his desk until he found a notebook and began to write a detailed list of pros and cons in his impeccable hand. Best to assess the situation with a clear mind, it was. No sense in rushing to any conclusions, any rash actions. Besides, he'd need to talk to Crowley about it all, and that would mean finding the right time for that conversation. Mostly it would mean Aziraphale being in a place where he'd give up an evening of delicious love making in exchange for yet another awkward and intense conversation about, you know, the whole 'being each others immortal, eternal enemies' thing, of which, frankly, Aziraphale was growing quite tired. He was about to start a second page of notes when the door crashed open and he heard a familiar clicking from a familiar pair of boots.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale stood and walked briskly across the shop floor. “You're shaking, dear, you look like you've had quite a fright! What on earth is going on?” Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley, ready to escort him over to the sofa, but the demon grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him passionately, as passionately as Aziraphale had seen humans deliver last kisses to one another. It was so emotional that Aziraphale immediately became afraid. He pulled back and searched Crowley's face. “Crowley, you're going to have to tell me what this is all about.” Crowley opened his mouth to speak, then kissed Aziraphale again, drinking him in as though he would never get another chance. “Crowley!” Aziraphale said forcefully. “You are scaring me. Please. What is this all about?” It wasn't until Aziraphale held him at arm's length that he could smell the brimstone and sulfur clinging to Crowley's jacket. The angel's eyes went wide, and Crowley finally started making a few random vocalizations and sounds.

“No, no. It's not like that, Angel, it's all good, it's all good,” Crowley said quickly. “You gotta trust me.”

“All right, dear, I – of course I trust you – but I need you to tell me what's happened.”

“Okay, okay, I will. I will. But I'm gonna need alcohol.”

“Well, I could open up a bottle of that red you brought me the other day, the one your clients gave you after-”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, “I need something stronger. But not as strong as what Beelzebub tried to give me.” He felt a chill up his neck as he remembered the unsettling image of the poisonous beverage floating around in thin air.

Aziraphale plopped down a seventy-year old bottle of Scotch on the table, then a glass. Crowley shot the angel a look of surprise. “I've been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Don't know if this is quite that,” Crowley said.

“What is it, then? What happened? I'm assuming they called you-”

“Below, yeah, they called me below. Beelzebub came and got me themselves.”

“All right,” Aziraphale said as he opened the scotch and poured Crowley a generous glass. The demon snatched the glass and drank it all in a single swig, then placed it back down for a refill.

“They think it's all me. All of it,” Crowley said as he stared into the amber liquid. Aziraphale was unclear as to what that meant and decided to give Crowley the space to continue. “They think the entire thing was my doing, and they're considering it a win. They... they think I did it for, you know, for the Dark Glory or some other bullshit.”

“So, your side thinks you've done... all...?”

“All of it. Aziraphale-” Crowley's tone was suddenly serious, “-they are claiming everything disco-related as a win for Hell. Every bit of it. Beelzebub was even pleased by all the people who hate it.”

Aziraphale cocked his head. “But there are so many – you said yourself that it's, that it might be canceling each other out – there's just so many angelic and celestial aspects of it.”

Crowley shrugged. “That's not how they seem to see it down there.”

“So what happened?”

“Well,” Crowley took another gulp of Scotch, “I took credit for all of it and asked for a holiday.”

Aziraphale's jaw dropped open. “You what?”

Crowley nodded. “Asked for a bloody holiday. Can you believe it?” He burst out into laughter, his beautiful chin pointed towards the ceiling, the Adam's apple on his gorgeous neck moving all over as he tossed a hand over his face and continued laughing. “I was scared shitless, really I was, but somehow I had the presence of mind to ask for a – god – for a bloody holiday.”

“And...?” Aziraphale scooted over to sit right next to Crowley, who reached over and wrapped his fingers around the angel's inner thigh as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Aziraphale closed his eyes to try to chase off inappropriate thoughts during one of the most important conversations they'd had in a while.

“And... they said yes.” Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked at Aziraphale for a moment before again bursting into maniacal laughter.

Aziraphale angled his body to face Crowley and placed his hands on the demon's slender shoulders. “Crowley... are you telling me – they just, they went ahead and-”

“Yes,” Crowley gasped out between laughs. “Asked for a whole decade off.”

Aziraphale began laughing; at first it was his usual nervous giggle, but then Crowley threw an arm around him and splayed his leg over the armrest. It wasn't long before they were both in tears at the absurdity of it all. It took them a good ten minutes to settle down enough for Aziraphale to catch his breath and for Crowley to press a few kisses over Aziraphale's eyelids, his eyebrows, his cheekbones.

“Do you think it's...” Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to voice the hope he felt. There was no way. Surely it wouldn't be this easy. Surely there would be a catch. There always was. No sense in even saying it.

“Ah, I don't know, Angel. Seems only a fool would trust the word of, well, you know, the whole self-proclaimed leader of the Army of Darkness,” he said as he pressed his nose into the crook of Aziraphale's neck and breathed him in. “But I don't know. Beelzebub seemed... they were just so impressed. Really. Couldn't believe it.”

“So there's a chance they might-”

“They might leave me alone. I think they might. Maybe.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale and then collapsed onto the angel's chest.

“I had an interesting experience today with Gabriel as well,” Aziraphale said as he began tangling his fingers through Crowley's hair, most of which now reached just below his shoulders. “I love your hair like this, my dear, it's absolutely so beautiful, you-”

“What happened with Gabriel?” Crowley asked, sitting up suddenly.

“Well.” Aziraphale was disappointed that his fingers were no longer in Crowley's hair; the sooner he updated Crowley on what happened, the sooner this situation could be rectified. “Ah, I um, I sent off a summons for him actually, I had grown a bit anxious and I was tired of waiting to see if um, you know, what – ah – what happened the last time we were out-” Crowley felt himself getting wet and shifted positions, “-anyways, I spoke with him. Did you know he called me on the phone? In the hundred years I've had that thing he's never once called me on it. Always called it an invention of sin.”

Crowley laughed. “Did he, now?”

“They don't know anything about it, Crowley. He didn't say a thing. Said there were no major changes as far as he could see.” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley sat up and locked eyes with Aziraphale. He felt a surge of hope rising in his chest and didn't dare voice it. After a charged silence that seemed to stretch out for hours, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the lapels and kissed him so hard Crowley felt the clack against his teeth all the way up to the top of his skull. Man, these bodies were weird. He shifted positions to be closer to Aziraphale and miscalculated, crashing to the floor with a thud. “Hgggg,” Crowley said as the impact registered in his neck and shoulders.

Aziraphale placed a hand behind his head and the dull ache instantly went away. “Oh goodness. I hope I didn't - are you all right, dear?” he asked as he wiggled out of his waistcoat and shirt.

Crowley laughed. “I suppose. I better be all right since it seems like you need something from me.”

“Well,” Aziraphale had somehow managed to fully strip and was now working off Crowley's belt, “you're not wrong, although you must know by now that your well-being is-” he kissed the sharp corner of Crowley's jaw, “-my top priority.” He slipped his fingers under Crowley's trousers and peeled them off, then took Crowley's cock in his hands.

“Here?” Crowley gestured at the hard wooden floor. “Don't you want to be-”

“Here, Crowley, here,” Aziraphale pleaded; in his desperate rush to be close to Crowley he ripped the demon's shirt, sending buttons flying everywhere. “Oh, Crowley, I'm so – I'm sorry,” he said.

“It's okay,” Crowley said quietly, holding still as Aziraphale gently slipped off the torn garment.

“I-”

“I really don't mind. Is this what you want?”

“Please, please, Crowley.” And since Crowley had never been able to resist Aziraphale's requests, especially not with the angel's soft, warm skin pressed up against his, he didn't. He gasped as Aziraphale straddled him and guided his cock inside with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times before. Just as Crowley had caught his breath, a guitar riff and smooth backbeat started to play from... somewhere...

“What's all this?” Crowley asked. He ran his hands up Aziraphale's thighs. God, those thighs. Crowley dreamed of a time when he could do nothing other than grip them and strive to give the angel his every pleasure.

_I was a sad and lonely girl_   
_All alone in this big world, baby, (hey, baby) baby_   
_Lost in a state of misery_   
_Not a soul to comfort me, baby (hey, baby)_

“You know, it does that sometimes,” Aziraphale said. He laughed, and Crowley moaned as the vibrations moved between where they were joined. “The music just – I don't actually know, Crowley.” Aziraphale leaned down and kissed Crowley; he smelled of vanilla, rose, and something that reminded Crowley of spring, perhaps a lily.

“Ah, fuck, Angel, you feel so good.”

Aziraphale clutched Crowley's shoulders and let out a deeply satisfied moan. “The feeling is quite mutual,” he said as he began riding Crowley in earnest.

“Tell me what you want,” Crowley begged.

Aziraphale laughed and placed his hand on Crowley's cheek. “My dear, I already have it. Won't you tell me a bit more about what you would like?” He smiled at Crowley and for a split second, the demon swore he saw Aziraphale's halo hovering above him as it had in the days Before.

“Anything you want,” Crowley said breathlessly.

“Right now, I want to see how long you can keep this up.” Aziraphale took Crowley's hands and placed one on his arse and the other just above his hip before picking up his speed.

Crowley licked his lips. “All right.”

_I couldn't find my way, ooh_   
_Don't you hear what I say? yeah_   
_Well, I was standing in confusion_   
_So badly disillusioned_   
_When you wrapped your arms around me_   
_I knew love had found me_   
_I was lost, so long, but found in the nick of time_

* * *

Sometime in early June 1978  
Just outside Brighton

 

From that day in April on, Crowley took Aziraphale's every suggestion as a demand. It all started when Aziraphale absentmindedly mentioned something about how wouldn't it be nice if they were able to take a proper holiday together, just the two of them. As usual, Crowley took it too far; he took Aziraphale to Rome, to Brussels, to Tunis, but mostly to a cottage he'd rented just outside Brighton. A proper English cottage, with a rose garden and all. Crowley was so tickled Aziraphale wanted to spend time with him that he told nearly everyone else in his life to fuck right off, thank you very much. He turned down ten, then twelve, then twenty sessions, each one paying more than the last. There was truly nowhere else Crowley would rather be than spending every moment of every day with his angel.

They were enjoying a lazy afternoon together, tangled up on the couch, when there was a violent pounding on the door. Aziraphale leapt up and clutched his hands over his chest.

“At least we're dressed,” Aziraphale said. He dug around in the sofa cushions until he found Crowley's sunglasses and handed them over.

“Do you think it's-” Crowley couldn't even bring himself to say it. Before he could open the door, a familiar if unwelcome voice rang out.

“AJ? AJ, darling, please tell me you're in there and that you're not dead! I don't want to have to be the one to discover your cold and lifeless body!”

“Is that...” Aziraphale trailed off as Crowley opened the door to reveal Freddie Mercury, standing before them in a pair of pink ruffled trousers, a lavender and yellow paisley vest, a velvet-trimmed floral robe, and the largest women's sunglasses either of them had ever seen. Covered in rhinestones, no less.

“Sorry to interrupt your sex holiday,” Freddie said as he strutted through the door, “but I really needed to get a hold of you and you were nowhere to be found.”

“Well, uh, yeah. All right.” Crowley stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Wait a second, how the hell did you find us?”

“I had to call Donna. She assured me you were fine, but after six weeks, good god, man. You got everyone worried sick!”

“It's not like we've been gone for decades or anything,” Aziraphale said, which earned him a frantic glare from Crowley.

“You should have just said you were fucking off to fuck. Everyone is always supportive of a good, solid sex holiday. Especially these days,” Freddie said airily.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who had placed a hand over his red face. “Right, so. How can I help you?”

“Oh, yes. So I'm doing a session in a month. Down in Switzerland. I'd really love it if you could be there.” He sat, crossed his legs, and draped his floral robe over them.

“Yeah, I can be – wait a second, is that all?”

“Is what all?”

“Did you really come all the way down here just to ask me to do a session, which you know very well I would have cleared my schedule for even if I had been busy?” Crowley wasn't angry; just utterly confused. The shock of someone banging on the door hadn't left his body yet and his legs were still trembling. “I didn't even tell Donna exactly where I was!”

“You ran off!” Freddie exclaimed. “There are rumors swirling that you've left the industry entirely!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I couldn't leave this bloody industry if I tried.” Which was true, since he'd literally made a deal with the devil. Or, technically, a deal with the devil's right hand demon.

“Not that I would blame you if you did, sweetheart, but, please. Won't you join me for this?” Freddie asked. “I could use your expertise.”

“Of course, of course.” Crowley slouched back against the sofa.

“Lovely.” Freddie smiled. An awkward silence fell over the room, and of course, the angel was the one to try to rescue everyone.

“Freddie, would you like a cup of tea?” Aziraphale asked in a strained tone of voice that no one but Crowley would have noticed.

“Well, that depends.” Freddie stood and strolled over to Aziraphale. “I'm free all weekend. Do you boys want a third?” He ran a single finger up Aziraphale's neck and the angel dropped his mug onto the tile floor. Crowley let out a sound that resembled a growl and stepped over closer to them both.

“I – uh – I don't think that's really our thing,” Crowley said as diplomatically as he could.

“Ah, well.” Freddie kissed Aziraphale on the cheek and turned around with a flourish. “Bring him to Switzerland. Maybe you'll all change your mind by then. Toodle-oo.” He managed to exit the cottage before Aziraphale or Crowley could say anything else.

“What on this green earth was that?” Aziraphale asked as they heard the sound of a car driving off.

“I truly have no idea.”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side. His mouth fell open and he held still for a moment before he could speak. “Did he just-”

“Yeah, I'm not – I'm – I don't know, Angel.” Crowley sighed and then let out a bark of a laugh. “Bloody fucking ridiculous, isn't it. I'm sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for? I know you didn't invite him here.”

“Right.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “Well, so. What do you – what do you want to do now?”

“Well, I suppose we should continue to enjoy our 'sex holiday' before we have to go back to the cold glare of reality, my dear.” Aziraphale batted his eyelashes at Crowley and slipped his arms around the demon's waist. “Don't you think?”

“Buhhhhh,” Crowley said as Aziraphale began stripping his clothes off in the middle of the kitchen.

* * *

“Why do we have to go back at all?” Aziraphale asked an hour later, while Crowley was eating him out. “Couldn't we just – oh, ah! – I don't know, couldn't we just stay here?”

“You? You're asking me this? You're the one who's got a thousand years of books stored away in that shop of yours,” Crowley quipped before resuming his ministrations.

“Sod the books,” Aziraphale said as he gripped Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley lifted his head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my angel?”

“Well, I certainly didn't mean for you to stop.” Aziraphale gently pushed Crowley's head back down between his legs. “I was just thinking aloud, and perhaps – oh!”

“We'll talk about it later,” is what Aziraphale thought he heard Crowley say before he began vibrating his tongue against the angel's clit. He allowed himself a few glorious moments to believe that they could, in fact, run off together with no consequences. If only.


	40. When We're Out There Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up with Crowley and Aziraphale as they come back from their vacation.. and on to another one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along everyone. Had a rough few weeks lately with the loss of a friend and of course, working like a dog. But here is a new chapter for you all!

Tuesday 12 June 1978  
London

The ride back to London was far too quiet. Crowley held Aziraphale's hand in his the entire time; he kept stroking his thumb over the back in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring but only served to heighten Aziraphale's anxiety. The past two months had truly felt like paradise on earth, and the angel was not keen at all to return to the typical realities and obligations of his existence. However, Aziraphale was eager to use some of the skills he'd been working on recently, specifically talking to Crowley (and other people) about his feelings rather than keeping everything bottled up inside.

“Crowley,” he said as they crossed into London city limits, “I wonder if there's a way to, ah, keep the spirit of our holiday alive.”

“Hmmm? What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

“Perhaps next week we could head out to the-”

“Oh, shit.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair and gripped it at the roots.

“What's the matter, dear?”

“What's the date next week?”

“Well, today is the 12h, so next week is the 17th-”

“Dammit,” Crowley said. He slapped the steering wheel. “I have to go to LA next week.”

“All right, well, that's hardly anything to - what's happening in LA?”

Crowley groaned. “Donna's performing a few shows. She really wanted me to come.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale said quietly. He didn't even bother trying to hide his disappointment, which Crowley, (of course) noticed instantly.

“She really wanted you to come, too.”

“She did?”

“Course she did.” Crowley was quiet for a moment, then drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “And me,” he finally said.

“And you?”  
  
“I wanted you to come,” Crowley said sheepishly.

“All right, then. When do we leave?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale until the driver behind them began honking its horn. “Piss off,” Crowley yelled out the window as the car swerved around them. “You've been gone from the shop and everything for two months, and you want to take off again?” he asked, left eyebrow raised.

“Well, as long as it's with you, yes, absolutely.” Aziraphale froze for a moment, then placed his hands in his lap. “Although I will have to make sure I let the boys know tonight. I believe Sanjay has the new book picked out for this month's-”

“Bring them,” Crowley said offhandedly as he floored the gas pedal and blew through a stop sign.

“Goodness, was that necessary?” Aziraphale dramatically clutched at anything he could. Crowley grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I said, bring them.”

“Bring them. All of them?”

“Yeah, bring them. Everybody.”

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley. “How are you going to make all that happen?”

Crowley laughed and let his hand wander over to Aziraphale's thigh. “Don't you worry about it, Angel.” Aziraphale felt himself getting wet from the simplest of touches and wished they were on their way to another cottage and not back to the bookshop.

* * *

Saturday June 19, 1978  
Los Angeles International Airport  
El Segundo, California

Crowley didn't regret his choice to bring along Aziraphale's friends; not when Sanjay threw up during takeoff, not when Jimmy finished three bottles of champagne before they'd left British airspace, and not even when Larry and William broke out into a creative interpretation of Barry Manilow's “Copacabana” that lasted even longer than the original version. Aziraphale clung to his arm and babbled excitedly about the experience of being in a “flying machine” for the entire journey, much to the amusement of the founding members of the Gay Men's Book Club. However, after eleven hours of drunken, loud, musical shenanigans, Crowley was glad to touch down in Los Angeles. He insisted on getting three separate cabs for the group, mostly so he could steal Aziraphale away for himself. Once they were in their cab heading towards the venue, Crowley slid across the leather seat and put his arm around his angel.

“There's _terrible_ traffic here, did I tell you that?” Crowley growled in Aziraphale's ear.

“Is there?” Aziraphale bit back a moan.

“Awful. It'll probably take us an hour to go ten miles.” Crowley began sucking on Aziraphale's neck.

“How... truly... wretched,” Aziraphale said as a privacy partition appeared in the cab.

* * *

Universal Amphitheatre  
Universal City, CA

Two and a half hours later, Aziraphale and Crowley were finally being led to the VIP section of the venue by a seven foot tall bouncer who seemed to be in a bad mood. They didn't arrive until after Donna had started performing, and they were greeted with annoyed looks from the Gay Men's Book Club save Sanjay, who was clutching his chest with one hand and swaying his other hand around in time to the music.

“God, what took you guys so long?” Jimmy asked.

“We didn't think they were going to let us in without you,” William said.

“Yeah, uh, traffic.” Crowley shrugged.

Larry took in Aziraphale's ruffled hair and Crowley's body language and simply rolled his eyes at the two of them. “All right,” he said as they slipped under the velvet rope and into the two seats on the edge; Aziraphale took the seat next to Larry and was grateful the colored lights hid his blushing. Donna was singing a tune that sounded vaguely familiar; Crowley could remember it bouncing around his brain at one time or another.

_Baby I want you, come, come,_   
_Come into my arms_   
_Let me know the wonder of all of you_   
_Baby I want you now, now_   
_Now and hold on fast_   
_Could this be magic at last?_

“I like her version better,” Larry quipped. As a performer, he was watching with the critical eye of a peer.

Aziraphale, whose only exposure to music from the time period was from listening to Crowley's radio show, nodded, then turned his attention to the demon, who appeared to have gotten something stuck on the armrest in between them.

“Darling, are you all right?” he asked, trying to figure out what was happening.

Crowley nodded. “You? You all right?” he mouthed to Aziraphale, who quickly nodded and bussed Crowley on the cheek. The demon could feel the heat creeping over his face as he saw the angel's adoring gaze. Crowley looked away, more out of habit than anything else, and he didn't notice Aziraphale leaning in to cup a hand against his ear.

“Oh, I'm doing wonderfully, Crowley. The only way things could be any better would be if you were inside me right now, my dear,” Aziraphale said, then smiled and kissed Crowley on the cheek, right where his warm, soft hand had been a moment ago. The angel turned his attention back to the stage and began swaying and smiling. Crowley, on the other hand, remained frozen in place for the next two songs.

* * *

Donna ended up performing three encores; Crowley, Aziraphale, and the men of the Book Club ended up standing right next to the stage staring up at her as she worked the crowd until she and the band could no longer continue. “That's all I got!” she said after her final set of bows. She waved gracefully and exited the stage smiling. Crowley felt a swell of pride in his chest as he turned around and saw a packed auditorium full of people cheering for his friend. She'd done good for herself, truly she had, and Crowley had gotten to be a part of her success.

“I'm here to see Donna,” Crowley said with the nonchalant air of someone who was actually friends with a major celebrity.

“What's your name?” the bouncer asked.

“He's good,” a man in a seafoam green leisure suit said. “That's AJ Crowley.” The bouncer sheepishly looked at the floor and stepped aside.

Crowley tipped his head to the bouncer, then led them through the narrow hallway into the green room. He had craned his neck to look for Donna when someone smacked into him at full force; within a few seconds he got a mouthful of a familiar shampoo scent and then the unmistakeable sound of a distinct excited scream in his ear.

“You're here! You're here! You really made it!” Donna exclaimed.

Crowley hugged her tighter. “Yeah, we made it.”

“Ezra, honey, it's so great to see you.” Donna gave Aziraphale a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, and the angel blushed as he saw Crowley smiling at the two of them. How far they'd come.

“I, uh, we also have some friends to introduce to you.” Crowley stepped back and gestured to the four men standing behind him. “This is Jimmy, Sanjay, William, and Larry, they're friends of ours.” They nodded and waved in unison; every one of them doing an absolutely bang up job of keeping their shit together in front of one of their idols.

“They're all members of our Gay Men's Book Club, which meets at the shop every week,” Aziraphale added.

“It's a pleasure to meet you all.” Donna went down the line and gave each man a hug.

Sanjay turned and quickly wiped the tears from his eyes when he thought no one was looking; Aziraphale made sure that he was the only one who noticed.

Donna turned back to Crowley with her gorgeous, radiant grin. “Did you like the show?” she asked.

Crowley put a hand on his hip. “Did I like the show? Did I like it? What sort of a bloody question is that?”

“Well, did you?”

“It was amazing. You were amazing. As always. Absolutely smashing. Best singer in the world.”

“You flatter me, but...” Donna dipped her chin and winked at Crowley. “I'll take it.” She laughed and began pinning up her hair.

“What are you up to next weekend?” Crowley asked casually.

“Oh, well, thankfully, I have a few days off,” Donna sighed. “These shows are... well... I'm not getting any younger! Why do you ask?”

Crowley hummed and walked behind Donna, hands held behind his back. “No reason. Just. We're, that is, all of us,” he gestured to himself, Aziraphale, and the Gay Men's Book Club, “are gonna go up to San Francisco. For Gay Freedom Day. And, I thought, well, maybe you'd want to join us.”

Larry gasped dramatically. “You're – you're taking us to Gay Freedom Day?” he asked.

“Yeah, I thought...” Crowley trailed off when he saw Sanjay, William, and Jimmy's shocked faces. “Did I not bring that up?”

“No, my dear, you didn't, but, that's quite generous of you,” Aziraphale said as he slipped his hand into the crook of Crowley's arm.

“Did Bob put you up to this?” Donna asked, eyes narrowed.

“No, I haven't spoken to him since...” Crowley tried to remember the last time he'd spoken to Bob and couldn't.

“He called me last week and invited me up. He was insistent that I come!”

“Well. I mean. One can hardly refuse the requests of three of your dearest friends,” Crowley said.

Donna sighed. “AJ, I'm not sure that I can just take off and-”

“Come on,” Crowley pleaded. “No one has to know it's you. I mean. You? You're far too famous to just show up at Gay Freedom Day. A nice hat and a pair of big sunglasses and no one will ever know.” Crowley turned to Aziraphale, who nodded and made a mental note of the accessories Donna would need in order for her not to grow suspicious of the lack of attention directed her way.

Donna crossed her arms. “You say that like I don't know who buys most of my records.”

“Come on,” Crowley repeated. “What's the worst that could happen? You get swarmed by a crowd of your adoring fans?”

Donna opened her mouth to respond, then cocked her head to the side. “You are so wild.” She smiled and lightly swatted Crowley's arm.

“Does that mean you'll join us?” Aziraphale asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Well. I mean.” Donna swirled her robe around so she wouldn't step on it as she sat down. “Bruce is gigging all week, I won't see him until the 10th anyways.”

“Please come with us. It's on me, all weekend, all on me-” Crowley held a hand up in a vain attempt to cut Donna off.

“That's absurd, and you know it, and I will absolutely not let you pay for everything, you ridiculous-”

“It's my pleasure,” Crowley interrupted. “Please.”

Donna gave Crowley a look of fond exasperation before shaking her head and her hands. “You persuasive, posh, little shit. Of course I'll go. I think you could convince the devil himself to give it all up for a night on the dance floor.”

Crowley froze; for a few seconds time seemed to stretch out before he remembered that there was, in fact, no way that Donna could actually know anything about who he truly was. This was just a figure of speech, he reminded himself as he let out a laugh which seemed to restore everything to its normal parameters. “I'll tell them you said so,” he deadpanned, which caused everyone in the room except Aziraphale to burst into laughter.

“You're the only person who could convince me to do this,” Donna said, pointing a makeup brush at Crowley.

“I'm touched,” Crowley said. “When can we expect you?”

“I'll have Anna book me a room tomorrow morning at the Palace-”

“That won't be necessary.” Crowley made sure there was a deluxe suite available in Donna's name with a simple flutter of his fingers. “I'll take care of it.”

Donna sighed. “When he puts his mind to something, there's nothing that can stop him,” she said to Aziraphale.

“Oh, you wouldn't believe how true that is, I – well, I certainly am well aware of Cr- of AJ's...” Aziraphale couldn't finish his train of thought once he saw the raised eyebrows and saucy looks from his friends. He laughed nervously and blushed all the way from his collar to his hairline.

“Right, well, it's time for us to be going, been a long day,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale's hand in his. “We'll see you all tomorrow... sometime? Sometime, tomorrow?” They all left the backstage area together, but no one said a word once they were on the street waiting for separate cabs.

* * *

The next few days in Los Angeles passed in a blur of activity; on Monday and Tuesday, Crowley was called in to a short mixing session with Freddie Perren and his main songwriting partner Dino, and Aziraphale and the men of the Book Club ran around during the day packing in all the touristy activities they could. Despite being busy, Crowley managed to sneak in a nice dinner out with Aziraphale on Wednesday. He called in a favor to get them a table at a posh Beverly Hills restaurant Donna had recommended and sipped a few cups of black coffee as Aziraphale enjoyed a meal he said was . They had just gotten back to their hotel room when Crowley received a frantic call from Freddie. A few tapes had gotten jammed in the machine, and the engineer sounded utterly frazzled. Crowley said he'd be there in an hour, which gave him plenty of time to pay some attention to Aziraphale before transporting himself over to Total Experience. Crowley managed to get the tape machine sorted out with a few choice curses and a bit of demonic magic, but it took far longer than expected. Once everything was running smoothly, Freddie and Crowley had coffee, and then some weed, and by the time they were done catching up, the sunrise was peeking over the Hollywood hills. Their goodbyes took a bit longer, and by the time Crowley slinked back to the hotel room, Aziraphale had already stepped out for the day. He'd left a note on the bedside table next to Crowley's sunglasses, written in so perfect a hand Crowley might have confused it for hotel correspondence.

_Am gone for the day, my love. Expect to be back by mid afternoon. Rest well_

In his haste to try to read the words again, Crowley dropped the piece of paper. The demon watched as it fell to the ground and dematerialized in a wave of white sparkles. “Dammit!” he muttered. He scraped at the carpet, hoping desperately to find the note again, so he could _keep_ it, but it was too late. It was already gone. Probably safer this way, that's why he did it, Crowley thought as a flood of unwanted feelings threatened to spill forth. Was it really too much to ask to keep a single tangible reminder of this thing between them? Apparently so. Crowley heaved himself back onto the bed, then paced around the room for a few minutes, then got some water, then sat and stared at the wall for a half hour before picking up the phone. He needed to talk to someone right now, almost anyone would do, but it was time for him to call an old friend.

“Hello, this is Bob.”

“Hey, yeah, how you doing?” Crowley asked. He had a hunch to try the work line first.

“AJ, hello! How nice to hear your voice,” Bob said. “How are you doing? Heard you were in town to see Donna and get a little work done.”

“Yeah, that's – yeah. Been up to some work. Saw Donna's show. Really fantastic, wasn't it? Did you get a chance to see her?”

“Oh yes,” Bob said. “James, Manuel and I all went on Sunday. Absolutely wonderful. You must be so proud of her.”

“Yeah, I am, absolutely, yeah. Proud to be her friend.” Crowley hesitated before bringing up the entire reason for his call. “Donna had mentioned you wanted her to go to San Francisco this weekend,” he said quietly.

Bob chuckled, the familiar sound hitting Crowley in a new way after being removed from it for so long. “Ah, yeah. I was trying to, at least, but I get it. She's got a new man, she's busy,” he said.

“I managed to talk her into it.”

“You did what?”

“Yeah. She's coming up.”

“Wow,” Bob drawled. “I knew you guys were close. I didn't realize you could get her to change plans so quickly.”

“I think part of it was getting the room at the Palace,” Crowley said.

“You got a room at the Palace?” Bob laughed loudly. “AJ, if I didn't know better, I'd say you must be a magician. No one can get a room there this weekend!”

“Had to call in a few favors, but,” Crowley wasn't even sure what he was trying to accomplish, only that he wanted to keep talking with Bob.

“Ahh, that's you. Always got a few favors up your sleeve.” Bob cleared his throat. “Well, I'll be sure to show her a good time, I imagine you're popping back home soon.”

“Uh, no, actually, I'm coming up tomorrow.”

“You are?” The excitement in Bob's voice reminded Crowley of the hours-long conversations they used to have weekly.

“Yep.”

“That's great! I'm excited to – well, wait, is it too weird for you to come up here? With all of us? And..” Bob asked.

“No, no, not at all,” Crowley said quickly, spilling his glass of water all over himself in the process.

“All right.” Bob paused for a moment. “Is Ezra okay with it?”

Crowley held back a sigh as he toweled himself off. It was so like Bob to be completely concerned about the welfare of everyone around him. Truly one of the best traits a human could have, in Crowley's opinion. “Absolutely. He's – we're good. Really. I mean – he's here with me, I'm not sure if you knew-”

“Donna mentioned it, yeah. That's great he'll be joining you.”

“He and some of his friends, too,” Crowley said.

“Oh?”

“The Gay Men's Book Club-”

Crowley was interrupted by Bob's hearty laughter. “You brought the whole club? Did you rent out an entire jet?”

“Very funny. A small plane. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh, AJ. Your humor is matched only by your generosity,” Bob said.

“If it's all right with you and James, we'd uh, we'd love to spend Saturday with you.”

“We'd love that,” Bob said, a touch too quickly.

“It's just, well, I've talked to Ezra about it a lot, about that weekend and what it meant to me, in the sense of the community, and,” Crowley was trying not to ramble and failed, “I had, just thought it might be nice.”

“It will be so nice.” Bob's voice had always been so comforting during their long conversations; Crowley didn't even realize how much he'd missed it. “Listen, AJ, I'm so glad to hear everything is going well for you two, and I will certainly look forward to hearing all about it once we're all in the city. Unfortunately, I've got a lot of work to get through before we can take off, so I'm gonna have to jump off, here.”

“Yeah, sorry to keep you,” Crowley said.

“Don't you apologize, I'd talk to you all day if I could. You know that. I can't wait to see you.” Crowley couldn't force his mouth to work up a response before Bob hung up, which was fine, as he felt on the verge of saying something too emotional. After the phone call, Crowley decided to get out of the hotel room. He walked a few blocks north of the hotel, then kept going, and before he knew it, he was strolling through the residential streets of Beverly Hills gazing at exotic plants. It only took a few choice rosebushes and hedges to lift his mood, and by the time he met up with Aziraphale, he was in the right headspace to lay the angel down and give him all the carnal delights he could handle until the sunlight began to kiss the edges of the sky.

* * *

The next afternoon, everyone was on the plane to San Francisco for “a weekend of gay enjoyment,” as Larry put it. On the short flight north, each member of the Book Club timidly approached Crowley to express gratitude for the sudden and overt display of generosity. Crowley proceeded to pat everyone on the back and mumble something about it not being a 'big deal,' and how it was truly 'no problem,' and just before landing, (after his third vodka tonic), said quietly to Sanjay how he would happily 'do anything to make Ezra happy.' Sanjay offered Crowley a sympathetic look and a pat on the arm before he went back to his seat for landing. Crowley felt truly high in a way he'd not experienced before. He snuck a look at Aziraphale, who was talking about the shapes of cloud formations (or so he thought), and decided that he'd use up every power on Earth or in Hell to keep this beautiful creature by his side.

* * *

Gay Freedom Day  
Saturday, June 24, 1978  
San Francisco, California

Once getting settled into their hotel in San Francisco, the gang had decided to take it easy in preparation for the long day ahead. Jimmy headed downstairs and asked the front desk clerk what he recommended for food. Forty-five minutes later, they were in the dining room of Aziraphale and Crowley's master suite, digging into the largest pizzas any of them had ever seen. The demon had then proceeded to share a bit about what they could expect during the parade and the next two few days. Larry and Sanjay raided the mini-bar, Jimmy followed Crowley to the balcony and watched as he pointed out the few San Francisco landmarks he knew, and William and Aziraphale discussed famous Californian authors for an hour. Everyone was back in their rooms well before midnight.

The next morning, they quickly snagged coffee and pastries from the hotel lobby and headed out to meet Bob, James, and Manuel, who were staying two blocks away. Crowley felt a knot in his stomach when he saw Bob waving at him from across the street. Aziraphale squeezed his hand as they waited for the light to change.

“Are those your friends?” Jimmy asked Crowley.

“Yes, that's Bob, and his partner James,” Aziraphale said, catching Sanjay's raised eyebrows as Crowley let go of the angel's hand.

Crowley sauntered towards Bob with his head tilted downwards and his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, hey,” he said shyly.

“Oh, hey indeed. It's so great to see you,” Bob said as he leaned into the embrace and held Crowley for a beat longer than expected.

Donna slipped past Crowley and put her arm around Bob. “Hey you.”

“Donna, darling, so wonderful to see you,” Bob said. James gave her a warm hug as Bob turned his attention to Aziraphale.

“And Ezra, lovely to see you.” Bob shook Aziraphale's hand and placed a hand on the angel's shoulder. “Won't you introduce me to your friends?”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale said, his voice coming out a bit froggy. He cleared his throat and gestured to Sanjay. “This is Sanjay, and Jimmy, William, and Larry.” Each man stepped forward to shake Bob's hand, and Bob, as always, greeted everyone with his trademark kindness and openness before introducing James and Manuel. The group milled around for a few minutes before Bob clapped his hands and gestured to the sidewalk, which was growing more crowded by the minute.

“Shall we?” Bob asked as he turned around gracefully.

Donna was walking in between Crowley and Aziraphale when a large crowd of revelers passed by them. The group walked into the street to go around them, and one of the men gave Donna a high five and laughed. For a moment, Crowley thought someone in the group was going to ask her for an autograph, but the man rejoined his friends and they all continued on.

“Huh. Funny. I think you were right, AJ,” Donna said.

“Right about what?”

“No one's recognized me at all since we got to San Francisco! Feels like I'm back in Munich.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Crowley said dryly. “Are you feeling _underappreciated_?”

Donna slapped his arm hard enough to make a solid _whap_ sound, and he stopped walking. “I feel appreciated just fine, thank you very much. Honestly, it's nice to be able to get out and just, you know, go do stuff. But it's strange.”

Aziraphale gave Donna his most beatific smile. “Perhaps it's a sign that you deserved to enjoy a much-needed holiday.”

“Eh, well, you know, stranger things have happened.” Donna linked arms with Crowley and Aziraphale. “All right, let's get to this balcony. I could use a drink.” They followed Bob, James, and Manuel, and Sanjay, Larry, William, and Jimmy brought up the rear. Their destination was only a few blocks away, but the streets were filling with people and the going was slow.

Once there, Crowley instantly recognized the aubergine columns of Janet's building; they were painted with alternating turquoise and yellow diamond shapes. Each house on the street was like a decorated Easter egg, something Aziraphale pointed out with a glowing smile. Crowley placed a hand on the small of the angel's back as they walked up the narrow, creaky stairs to Janet's flat.

The variegated pothos had vined across the ceiling, and Crowley spotted the large African violet, which had been moved to a different windowsill. It looked to be at least twice as big as it was the last time he'd seen it.

“You're not imagining it. It's grown quite a lot.” Crowley was a bit startled and turned around to see Janet, dressed in what appeared to be the same black and red outfit she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her.

“Indeed it has,” Crowley said as he greeted her with a hug. “So good to see you again.”

“You must be AJ. Welcome,” said a plump blonde woman with a beatific smile.

“Oh, yeah, hi,” Crowley said. She did seem strangely familiar, but... was he supposed to know who this person was? “I, uh, I don't think I've met you before,” Crowley said. He extended his hand only to be pulled into a hug by the buxom blonde, who was wearing a crème ruffly blouse, a khaki colored skirt, and a baby blue headband.

“Oh, that's right,” Janet said, “last time you were here, Sandy was at a conference.”

“A conference? When was that?” Sandy asked.

“The year you had to miss Gay Freedom Day.” Janet sat down on the sofa next to Sandy and placed her arm around the blonde. “Please, make yourself at home.” Aziraphale sat down on the loveseat and Crowley sprawled out next to him.

“Ahh, yes, I remember now. Must have been the West Coast Librarians Symposium.” Sandy smiled at Aziraphale and Crowley, then turned to Janet with a doe-eyed, pleading look Crowley would recognize anywhere. “Darling, would you mind terribly if I asked you to put on the kettle? I'm out of tea.”

“Yeah, sure.” Janet was on her feet instantly. “Would you two care for tea? It probably would be tea time if you were at home.”

“I'd love some,” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

Crowley nodded and stood. “I'll, uh, I'll go lend a hand.”

“So,” Sandy said, leaning forward towards Aziraphale, “Janet tells me you've got a bookshop.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, I do, I am the proprietor of a bookshop in Soho,” Aziraphale said shyly. Sandy tilted her head and placed her hands in her lap and then Aziraphale really launched into it. “It all started as a little hobby, really, it's hard to believe it's still in existence, but...”

Crowley caught Janet's eye as their partners began what would eventually become a four-hour conversation about books.

“I knew there was a reason you and I got on,” Janet whispered over the sound of the bubbles forming in the stovetop kettle. “Besides the plants and all.” She laughed, and Crowley joined in. Once the tea was ready, Janet set it on the table for Sandy and Aziraphale, then led Crowley up to the rooftop for a repeat of last time's homegrown fun and discussion.

* * *

Aziraphale and Sandy's discussion had turned to local bookshops, which included gay-owned shops, and then Aziraphale began asking questions about the current event, which seemed to have drawn thousands of people from all around.

“The city appears to be packed,” he said.

“Oh, yes, it's quite busy for the celebration.”

“Does this happen every year?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, it's fairly new, started a few years ago, and – would you like any more tea, Ezra? Or another scone? Perhaps a muffin?” Sandy asked.

“Oh, thank you, dear, but I couldn't possibly eat any more at the moment. Did you make these?”

Sandy smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“They're absolutely wonderful,” Aziraphale said. There was a sudden cheer from the balcony and the angel stood up to see what caused the celebration.

“Let's see what that's all about,” Sandy said as she walked to the window. “Ahh. It's the leather men.”

“The leather...?” Aziraphale peered over Sandy's shoulder at the street below and what he saw took his breath away. There was a block of men marching together in leather harnesses, chains, and chaps, along with a few men wearing collars and being walked on leashes. The angel couldn't stop his thoughts from turning to the time Crowley had tied him up and put an iron collar on him. Aziraphale felt flushes of the same shameful heat that had coursed through his body as Crowley led him through a door and –

“Ezra?” Sandy laid a hand on his arm. “I think I lost you for a moment there.”

“Oh, goodness. I apologize. What did you ask me?”

“I think I asked you if – oh, well, won't you look at that,” Sandy pointed to a man walking in the middle of the street with a large, bright, multicolored flag hoisted in the air; the pinks and reds at the top gave way to green, blue, and violet on the bottom. He was flanked by three drag queens in go-go boots. Behind them, the Dykes on Bikes were slowly rolling down the street in their motorcycles. “That's nice, isn't it. Well, and now, of course, I've forgotten what I was going to ask you.” She laughed, and Aziraphale noticed how similar her laugh sounded to his own. He scanned the balcony for Crowley and didn't see his red hair.

“Did they leave?” Aziraphale asked.

“They probably went up to the-” Sandy was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the fire escape.  
Janet moved gracefully through the open window, followed by Crowley, whose boot got stuck on the ledge. He nearly tripped into the window, but was able to untangle himself and make his way back into the flat, although Aziraphale noticed the flush on his cheekbones. The smell of marijuana wafted through the living room.

“I see you two have been up on the roof,” Sandy said, pursing her lips. Crowley couldn't get over how much her facial expressions resembled Aziraphale's.

“Ahh, just a little bit of fun,” Janet teased. “It is Gay Freedom weekend, after all. What better way to be free than to be-”

“Yes, darling, of course.” Sandy said it like the long-suffering spouse she was.

“I'm gonna check in with everyone,” Crowley said, pointing to where Bob was standing on the balcony.

“Wait a second. Here,” Janet said, placing a small plastic baggie into his hand.

“What's this?” Crowley asked. He saw a flash of green and assumed it was homegrown weed. He moved to tighten his grip around it and Janet frantically waved her hands.

“No, no, don't do that!” she exclaimed. “It's a leaf from the mother.” Crowley looked down to see a large, plump African violet leaf inside the baggie, the cut end wrapped in a wet paper towel. “Just pop it in a pot once you get home. Should do just fine.”

Crowley smiled and gave Janet a hug. “My card's on the table. Give me a call sometime to talk about plants,” he said as he and Aziraphale walked out to the balcony.

* * *

After a long day of celebration and alcohol, everyone was feeling loose and free. Aziraphale couldn't believe the amount of people who'd come to the city to celebrate a day of “Gay Liberation,” as he'd heard mentioned dozens of times. The Book Club boys experienced some jet lag in the afternoon, but rallied after a quick dinner in the Castro. Larry was the first to revive, and his first question was “can we go dancing?” A quick stop at their hotels, and the group of ten (Manuel had run into a fellow flight attendant, Andre, had joined them), were ready to go out on the town for an evening of dancing. Bob was the one to get them into the club this time; Crowley thought it was the same place Bob had taken him to when he was here last. 

A slick uptempo song with plenty of hi-hat and a driving guitar riff was blasting joyously over the speakers as they entered the club. Aziraphale took in the now-familiar sights of a disco club: the risqué outfits, the makeup, and of course, all the shimmer and sequins.

"You doing all right?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded. 

Several people turned around, and Crowley followed them to see a Black man dressed in a white glittering gown walked through the door and the crowd instantly went wild. Several men stripped out of their shirts and began waving them around as the music began to build and soar into the chorus. 

_Make me feel_   
_Mighty real_   
_Make me feel_   
_Mighty real_

Crowley tapped Bob on the shoulder.

“Is that...?”

Bob smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that's Sylvester."

A man with a huge mustache and a leather vest approached Sylvester and tried to get him onto the floor to dance, but the singer politely waved him off and made his way over to the bar. 

Bob cleared his throat. "You remember we went to-”

“-we went to go see him last time I was here, yeah, I remember.” Crowley distinctly remembered that evening; both the gorgeous outfit he wore and the lovely shades Bob had given him as a gift. His face flushed a bit as he remembered how the rest of the night had gone. Crowley glanced at Bob and it was quite clear that he was also remembering the same evening.

_You make me feel_   
_Mighty real_

They broke eye contact only after someone's polyester shirt whacked Crowley in the face, nearly taking off his sunglasses.

“Sorry!” Crowley held fast to his shades as the person he couldn't see took back their garment.

“You all right? Your shades weren't destroyed by an errant disco shirt, were they?” Bob asked.

Crowley could only nod.

“He's really going places,” Bob continued. “Technically this isn't even out yet, but everyone in the Bay knows the song already.” Crowley noticed many people mouthing along the words.

“Yeah, I mean, yeah. It's a good song.” Crowley's hips had already started moving in time to the music.

_When we get home, darling_   
_and it's nice and dark_   
_and the music's in me,_   
_and it feels real hot_

“Here, come on, let me introduce you to his producer.” Bob gestured to the DJ booth.

"I'm gonna talk to him," Crowley said to Aziraphale, who started to try to speak, and then just nodded and waved Crowley along.

 and they began working their way through the crowd up. Once they arrived, the DJ smiled and waved at the two of them. Crowley recognized the young man as the lighting tech he'd met briefly a few years back. What was his name again? Bob leaned in and gave the DJ a quick hug, then put his arm around Crowley's shoulders.

“You remember Patrick, right? This is AJ Crowley.”

“We met briefly, yeah, I remember,” the man said as he shook Crowley's hand.

“That's right. You worked at the disco. You did the lights.”

“Still do,” he said with a chuckle. “You know how this business is.”

“That I do. But this, man, this is absolutely amazing. This is about to take off, mark my words.”

A delicate smile crept onto Patrick's face. “I hope you're right about that, we worked really hard on it.”

Crowley shrugged. “It's anyone's guess in this business. But this is great. Do you have an advance copy? I'll take it with me to London.”

“You're going to London, huh? What takes you... oh my god.” Patrick froze. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You're that AJ Crowley, aren't you. Oh god. I didn't put it all together until now. Oh my god.”

“The one and only. I hope whatever you're going on about isn't too serious, I might have a bad reputation but-”

“You're friends with Donna Summer, aren't you? God, I'm sorry. I know you're not supposed to do this. Most basic rule of it all.” Patrick pressed his hands against his temples and then nervously shook them out.

“Donna Summer is my best friend and I am the luckiest man on earth,” Crowley said. Patrick laughed. “Yeah, mate, I feel the exact same way about her.”

“I'm a bit starstruck, I can't lie.” He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a record. “I wouldn't normally ask this, but...” he ran his fingers over the edge of the cover. “I worked so long on this remix. I'd love for you to take a copy. And don't worry, I won't ask you to make Donna listen to it. I won't go that far.”

He handed it to Crowley, who was surprised by the weight of it. “How many records did you put in here?”

“Oh, it's acetate,” Patrick said. “Because, well. It's a bootleg.”

“Ahh!” Crowley had only heard of these and hadn't yet seen one. He delicately stuck his fingers between the sleeve and peered in at the record. “So this means-”

“It can only be played so many times before it wears out. So, um, make it good, all right!”

“Maybe I will have to get Donna to listen to it.”

“AJ, that's such a huge ask-”

“Oh, you'd be surprised. Somehow she takes my taste very seriously. I don't know why. I will get this heard as much I can, though.” Crowley was very excited to be entrusted with something so unique.

“I gotta hop back up here, but it's been a pleasure talking with you,” Patrick said, extending his hand before slipping the headphones back on over his ears. Crowley shook his hand and watched as he deftly mixed into the next song without losing a single beat. A familiar synth-driven riff washed over the speakers and Crowley smiled. He was almost back to where everyone was dancing when he heard Donna's voice ring out.

_I'm just a working girl_   
_Just earning a living_   
_When the city's waking up_   
_I'm going home_

_Working the midnight shift_   
_While my friends are all out_   
_They've all gone out dancing_   
_They're out having fun_

It seemed everyone in the club knew the words to the song; Crowley heard many voices of various abilities singing along. He met Aziraphale's eyes and moved in close, nestling his body against the angel's.

“You've been rather busy today, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, with the slightest hint of a pout on his face.

“Seems I've been a bit too busy.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the neck. The angel draped his arms over Crowley's shoulders and they moved together in a shared rhythm that didn't necessarily match up with the beat; Aziraphale's hands began roaming over Crowley's back and torso, and the demon freed his hips up to roll forward against Aziraphale's thighs, which were covered only by a thin metallic caftan. Crowley could feel the angel's warmth through his trousers, and it wasn't long before they were undulating against one another hungrily.

“Could I be the one to keep you occupied for the rest of the evening?”

“Never thought you'd ask.” Crowley gripped Aziraphale's hips and held himself in place so the angel could feel the already-hard length of him. “Would you like to get out of here?”

“I would love nothing more,” Aziraphale said quickly, planting a few firm kisses onto Crowley's lips and jaw. The demon took him by the hand and began lacing through the crowd. “Well – ah – shall we let the others know we're um, turning in for the night?”

Crowley tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Angel, I'm pretty sure everyone has a good enough idea of where we're going.” Even under the multi-colored lights of the club, Crowley could recognize the flush creeping up to Aziraphale's hairline. “Besides, we're all staying on the same floor.”

“Yes, of course, of course. You're right,” Aziraphale said, pushing past Crowley to lead the way towards the door. “And the sooner we get back to the hotel, the more privacy we'll have.”

“If it's privacy you want, I'll make sure you have it.” Crowley laughed and placed his hand on the small of Aziraphale's back as they exited the club. They didn't bother with waiting for a cab; Crowley was high on the feeling granted by his recent generous deeds and transported them directly back to their bed, where Aziraphale quickly divested both of them of their clothing. As wrapped up as they were in each other, neither of them were aware of the passing of time until the sunrise began to paint the room in pink and orange light. After some miraculous cleaning up, Aziraphale and Crowley then went to grab breakfast with Jimmy, Larry, Sanjay, and William, all of whom reported the best night of sleep they'd had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1978 was the year the first gay rainbow pride flag was flown, the original design had 8 colors and was designed by San Francisco artist Gilbert Baker. 
> 
> Sylvester's Step II wasn't released until September 1978 but I'm going to allow his producer Patrick Cowley to have had an advance copy of the record :P 
> 
> Patrick Cowley was a huge Donna Summer fan and did the definitive remix of "I Feel Love," look it up!!!! not available on Spotify.
> 
> Several stories have been told about Sylvester being quite modest in the crowd and refusing to dance to his own music...


	41. Give Me All That You Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrapping up Aziraphale and Crowley's time at Pride...

Aziraphale and Crowley exited their room around noon and leisurely made their way down to the restaurant next to the hotel. Surprisingly, Larry had beaten them to 'breakfast,' and was sitting with his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, and a steaming cup of hot coffee in front of him.

“How you doing this fine morning, Larry?” Crowley asked, unnecessarily cheerfully.

“Oh, don't be such a cunt,” Larry said. His voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel for a few hours. Aziraphale poked Crowley in the ribs before sitting down next to Larry.

“Be nice,” Aziraphale chided. “How are you feeling, dear?” he asked Larry before placing a hand on his shoulder. Crowley watched as Aziraphale unsubtly healed the worst of Larry's hangover.

“Slightly better now that you're here, I was wondering if I'd have to dine alone,” Larry muttered before downing his coffee and waving over the waiter for another cup.

Aziraphale looked around. “Wait, when's the last time anyone saw Donna? Have we lost her completely?”

The waiter filled Crowley's mug up without being asked. “Oh, shit,” Crowley said to no one in particular. He glanced at Aziraphale.

“I guess neither of you saw her slip out of the club,” Larry said dryly.

“I fear we didn't,” Aziraphale said before realizing exactly why he and Crowley had missed Donna's departure. He felt himself start to flush at his hairline.

Larry laughed. “Well, don't worry. She's out shopping. Or so she told me. I believe her exact words were, 'I'm too old to be this hot and sweaty if it's not for a paycheck.'”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Sounds about right.” He turned to address Aziraphale. “She's fine. We'll take her out to dinner tomorrow or something.”

“Well, how was the rest of your night?” Aziraphale asked.

Larry clucked his tongue. “You won't believe who I ran into on the dance floor...” Crowley sipped his black coffee in silence while Larry regaled them with what had to be an exaggerated description of his night out on the town.

Sanjay, William, and Jimmy streamed in next, with Bob, James, and Manuel following a few minutes after. The table was quickly rearranged to hold everyone. p on as many carbohydrates as possible, and their meal stretched on for a leisurely two hours or so before Jimmy shyly asked if anyone felt like exploring more of the city.

“Oh, wouldn't that be lovely,” Aziraphale said.

“AJ, you've been here before, haven't you?” William asked.

“Only once, but yeah. Great city. I think Bob more might know about that... that sort of stuff.”

Bob smiled broadly. “Oh, we come here all the time,” Crowley watched Bob's eyes linger on his collarbone for a few seconds before he bit his lip and continued, “I think we should all go to a bathhouse. Unless I'm the only one who needs more help recovering.” That got a hearty laugh from the table.

“We could go to the Barracks?” Bob wondered aloud.

“That place might not be a – uh, a bit intense for the first timers,” James said, gesturing to the Brits. There was a lot of groaning and protesting; then Manuel shushed everyone and spoke.

“What about Ritch Street? That's where I prefer to go while I'm here.”

“Oh yeah,” Bob said, “I've been there, that place is nice.”

“It's not locals-only or anything, but it's by far the best.”

“Well,” Larry stretched his arms over his head, “I've never been here, so I have no choice but to follow your excellent taste.” While everyone discussed the plan, Crowley snuck up to the till to pay the check. He tried to slink back to the table unnoticed, but Bob shot him a knowing look.

“Did you...?” Bob didn't bother asking the rest of the question once he saw the start of a sly smile creeping up on Crowley's face.

Aziraphale clucked as Crowley sat back down and slung his arm around the angel. “Always going out of your way, my dear,” he said before bussing Crowley on the cheek. Crowley tried to hide his sudden blush, but he was aware of the heat rising up where Aziraphale's hand had all-too-briefly rested against his skin.

The sharp squeak of a chair scraping across the floor shocked Crowley out of it, and he stood, stretched, and followed the group out of the restaurant onto the street. Everyone started walking in one direction

“Wait, does anyone know where we're going?” James asked. He looked at Bob, who looked at Manuel, who took a few moments to orient himself before turning everyone around in the opposite direction. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and began chatting with William as they crossed a busy street. Crowley was a half step ahead of Aziraphale, and kept running his thumb absentmindedly over the back of the angel's hand. How truly amazing it was, to be able to parade around in public like this. Crowley thought about pinning Aziraphale up against one of the trees growing out of the sidewalk and kissing him silly for everyone in the entire city to see. He was aware of Aziraphale getting closer, and then the angel grabbed his arm and kissed him on the cheek.

“I'm having quite a lovely time,” Aziraphale said quietly into the shell of Crowley's ear.

“Yeah?” Crowley smiled and allowed the pleased and proud feeling to fizzle all through his body. Felt good, like drinking water with bubbles in it.

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale did that thing that drove Crowley mad and batted his eyelashes before looking away. The group continued walking and talking until they arrived in front of an unassuming facade. Manuel was first to the door, and everyone else filed into the lobby one at a time.

Crowley pushed his way to the front. “This is all going to be on me,” he said to the clerk as he forked over a recently-conjured wad of cash and plopped it on the counter.

The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Can I keep the change?”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said.

“All right then,” he said with a smile. He rattled off a few brief guidelines and rules for the space, then held the door open and handed out towels and washcloths one by one as the group streamed into the dressing room. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and pulled him to a private corner to disrobe. Crowley was unbuttoning his shirt when he realized that he was about to be in a shared space with Bob, who'd only ever seen him with one particular Effort. He sucked in a quick breath and leaned closer to Aziraphale.

“You okay if we stick to ourselves in here, Angel?” He didn't intend for it to come out in a throaty growl, but it did, and Aziraphale shot him a look that was about as warm as the ambient temperature.

“Why, my darling? Do you intend to have your wicked way with me?” Aziraphale asked. He shot the demon a cheeky look; Crowley let his eyes trail down Aziraphale's chest and down to where his towel was tucked in below his belly. He felt the desire to sink his fingers into Aziraphale's wet cunt and finger the angel through a few dozen orgasms before he remembered where they were, and what would likely be expected of them.

“You uh, you got all your...” Crowley gestured to his own thighs in a circular motion, “stuff sorted out. You know?”

Aziraphale chuckled and walked towards the entrance to the bathhouse. “I could ask the same of you, dear.” Aziraphale shot Crowley a look he didn't quite understand as he opened the door.

The steam enveloped them once they walked into the main room. Crowley walked into the wall of warmth, felt a satisfaction deep in his bones, and let out a groan. Soft music was playing, and his eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting.

_Skylark, have you seen a valley green with spring_   
_Where my heart can go a-journeying_   
_Over the shadows and the rain, to a blossom-covered lane?_

Bob laid a gentle hand on Crowley's shoulder as he and James slipped by. Sanjay, William, Jimmy, and  
Larry followed Manuel off to one side.

“Let's go in here,” Aziraphale said, pulling the demon by the elbow towards a hallway.

“Is it private?”

“I'll make it private,” Aziraphale said with determination as he led them down the dark corridor. He stopped at the end of the hall, then opened a door on their left to reveal a room with its own small hot tub, just big enough for two.

“I take it you used a miracle for this?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale took their towels and hung them up on the hook behind the door, then hopped into the hot tub without a single ripple appearing on the surface. “Only a teensy bit of one,” he said.

Crowley chuckled and slowly slid a leg into the water. “Shit, that's hot!” He hissed and grumbled as he lowered his other leg in. “Don't know how you got in there, Angel, gonna have to...” He trailed off as Aziraphale's soft hands began creeping up his thighs. Crowley looked down to see a familiar, hungry expression on the angel's face. “Buhhh,” he sputtered.

“Won't you please let me do this for you, since you've got it out here now?” Aziraphale asked. He took Crowley's cock in hand, then kissed the tip of it.

“Dnnnnt,” Crowley muttered through his teeth. “Sssssure, but – ah-” Aziraphale swirled his tongue around the head of Crowley's cock, “-what do you mean?”

The angel laughed, a light melodic sound that bounced off the walls. “Oh, my dear. I know you have many options available for your choice. I don't blame you for going with any variation aside from this, it does feel so very good, I just – I enjoy this as well. I very, very much enjoy this,” he said as he took all of Crowley into the heat of his mouth and sucked at him as though he was a particularly delightful dessert. The look on Aziraphale's face was so familiar to Crowley; he'd seen it a hundred times at this point, but the desire in the angel's eyes snearly pushed him over the edge.

“Angel, ah – oh fuck, Aziraphale, feels so good,” Crowley muttered, one hand gently threading through Aziraphale's mussed up curls and the other draped over his eyes.

“Perhaps you'll let me sample some of your other delicacies later on,” Aziraphale said before swallowing Crowley all the way down his throat.

“Oh my g- Aziraphale, Aziraphale, how are you doing that – fuck – it,” Crowley gasped. He felt his thighs trembling and a heat building in his core. “I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he warned.

Aziraphale let Crowley's rock-hard cock slip out of his mouth with an obscene pop. “Oh, I don't think we need to make a big deal of that, do we, my love? Why don't you just let yourself go now? We've got the whole week.” He wrangled Crowley's cock back into his mouth, then shifted positions so he could let all of the demon's impressive length slide down his throat. Crowley’s fingernails were leaving little half-moons into Aziraphale's shoulders when the angel began humming.

“Ahh! Fuck,” Crowley exclaimed as he spilled down Aziraphale's throat, hips jerking as the angel held him firmly in place. “Fuck, Aziraphale, you feel so good, I love...” Crowley bit back his words as he shuddered through the last waves of his orgasm. He was gasping for air by the time the pleasure began to subside.

“Yes, my dear Crowley, I do as well,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his arms around Crowley's shoulders and pulling himself out of the tub to set next to him on the edge. “Would you mind returning the courtesy and extending me a bit of a helping hand?” He batted his eyelashes at Crowley, and although the demon was already starting to harden again, he couldn't help but snort at the cheesy come-on.

“Always have a helping hand for you,” Crowley said. He wrapped his long fingers around Aziraphale’s effort du jour, a nice, thick cock that began stirring to life under his touch.

“Oh, yes, that’s absolutely lovely, Crowley, yes.”

Hearing Aziraphale's words and delightful sounds of encouragement spurred Crowley on. “Do you like that?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Only for me though, only for me like this.” The words slipped out of Crowley's teeth before he could stop them.

“What makes you think I want to come onto anyone else?” Aziraphale's tone was light, playful.

“I... I didn't think you did, I just-”

“You're right. I don't. I don't want to come on anyone else. I mean, onto. I don't want to come onto anyone else,” Aziraphale corrected himself, but there was a truly wicked sparkle in his eye.

“I wasn't aware you had this type of a mouth on you,” Crowley said against Aziraphale's neck as he began quickening the speed of his movements.

“And – oh – what type of a mouth is that?”

“A filthy one.”

“Oh, Crowley, but I've barely even said anything. Maybe I should speak a bit more freely once we get back to the privacy of our hotel room. Would you like that?” Crowley made a choked-off sort of sound and tightened his grip around Aziraphale.

“Oh yes, just like that, dear, just like that,” Aziraphale urged, his hips scooting forward involuntarily. Crowley continued working Aziraphale's cock until the angel tensed, cried out, and then went slack in his arms. “Oh, goodness, for Heaven's – my dear Crowley, that – I dare say we're going to have to find a spot like this when we get back to London, darling,” he said between heaving breaths. Crowley kissed him and the steam rose up between them, leaving little droplets all over Aziraphale's very red face.

“Sure there's somewhere like this we can go,” Crowley said as he sunk into the water. He was thrilled at the possibility of their lives continuing on like this; together, out and about, and didn't even bother to hide the grin that crept onto his face. Aziraphale followed him back into the hot tub and wiggled himself in front of Crowley so the demon could wrap his arms around him as they sat and soaked in the water.

* * *

A few hours later, they exited the tub, showered, and donned their street clothes. Then they headed into the lobby, where the members of the Book Club were apparently awaiting their arrival.

“You two look nice and relaxed,” Larry quipped. He slicked his hair back with both hands as Sanjay and Jimmy giggled.

“You know what they say,” Crowley replied, slinging his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, “when in Rome.” William laughed heartily, and the four Book Club boys headed outside.

“Do you mind if I snap a photo of you two?” the man behind the counter asked, holding up a Polaroid camera.

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said as he leaned over into Crowley’s embrace. He placed his lips on Crowley’s cheek and held still until the click and the flash passed.

“How’d we do?” Crowley asked.

“Perfect, the both of you.”

Crowley waved goodbye as he held the door open for Aziraphale. They were long gone by the time their photo had developed. The man behind the counter smiled as he taped it to the wall, perfectly in line with the other Polaroids of visitors.

* * *

Two days later, everyone was equal parts partied out and wired up. Donna had spent her time in the city alternating between shopping and holing up in a spa. She met up with Aziraphale and Crowley to enjoy a quiet meal at North Beach before shoving all of her bags into the back of a black cab. “You take care of your man,” she'd whispered in Crowley's ear as she hugged him goodbye. Many promises of future time spent together were exchanged before the cabbie leaned on his horn. She went back to Los Angeles on a private flight Crowley had arranged.

Their last night in the city had come upon them quickly (too quickly). Crowley could tell Aziraphale and the Book Club boys were eager to get home to London, so he wanted their last night in the city to end on a bang. No telling when he or Aziraphale would be back here, and he was certain that this was a once-in-a-lifetime trip for Aziraphale's human friends. They'd agreed to meet up with Bob, James, and Manuel in the early evening, and they were milling about on the street for an hour, smoking and shooting the shit, before the conversation turned to the evening's plans.

“Should we go out dancing again? One last time?” Bob asked. The group agreed, and it was decided that they'd walk to the club instead of stuffing into the backs of cabs. After several stops at bars along the way, they finally made it to a disco with music so loud, every word was audible from a half block away. Crowley used a bit of demonic magic to get them through the line; the bouncer 'suddenly' recognized Crowley and Aziraphale despite never having met either of them.

The disco was a whirl of color and sound; drag queens in sequined gowns doused with perfume, many shirtless young men, even more men in detailed leather pieces, collars and leashes, and people who defied description, all gathering in a spirit of celebration. By the time they had downed one more drink and made it onto the packed dance floor, it was close to midnight, and the DJ was throwing out one gem after another. Crowley didn't recognize many of the songs, but the set was flawless, and he found it easy to dance, both with Aziraphale and by himself. He looked out over the crowd and took it all in; the spirit of Gay Freedom Day was present, and it was quite the way to cap off an unforgettable visit. Crowley felt a hand on his arse and looked behind him; it was Aziraphale, who had hopped back onto the dance floor carrying a giant drink in his other hand.

Crowley stopped dancing. “Seriously?” The liquid was pink and topped by two inches of white foam, a plastic flamingo, and two pink umbrellas.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, dear, it was the special for the night. Just look at it! You can't expect me to-”

“Sorry!” Jimmy cried out as he crashed into Aziraphale, sending the angel forward into Crowley's arms.

Crowley craned his neck until he could see the only clock in the place; it was nearly 2 in the morning. “I think it's about time we get out of here, everybody's pissed.”

“I agree! I'm old! I'm tired!” Larry groaned.

“One more song? One more song,” Bob yelled over the music as one beat gave way to another, the cling-cling-cling of an insistent triangle setting off the next track. William and Sanjay were dancing in a group with three other men, and James and Manuel were snogging just behind them.

Crowley shrugged, nodded, and let his hips start to swing. Everyone in the club knew the song; people called out the lines to one other while bumping hips and moving in time. When the chorus hit, the disco went nuts;

_San Fran-cis-co, San Francisco_   
_San Francisco (City by the Bay, yeah!)_   
_San Francisco, you got me!_

Must be a local hit, Crowley thought over the string riffs. He caught Bob staring at him, and the demon froze for a few beats as he felt the intensity of Bob's eyes wandering down his neck, his open collar, his chest. He remembered all the times he'd danced with Bob over the years, and it took the feel of Aziraphale's breath against his neck to jolt him back into motion.

_Folsom, Folsom Street,_   
_on the way to Polk and Castro_   
_You don't find them finer,_   
_Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom_   
_Searching for what we all treasure.. pleasure_

* * *

Bob and James led everyone out of the club just before the DJ announced the last song. Larry and William bummed cigarettes from a drag queen on her way home, and everyone was milling under a streetlight.

“Well, it's about time for us to get going,” Bob said. He gave Crowley a small smile.

“Oh, come now, we can't all say goodbye like this,” Aziraphale said. “Won't you come join us at our hotel?”

“That's a lovely idea,” Sanjay added. “Surely we can make the room for a... a cup of tea? Something?”

“Yeah. We'll figure it out,” Crowley said. “Come on, yeah?”

“Isn't our hotel just a few blocks this way?” Jimmy asked.

Manuel snorted. “If by 'a few blocks,' you mean a mile this way.”

“Why don't we walk?” Jimmy stumbled into a streetlight, and Aziraphale caught him by the arm before he fell into the street.

“You sober enough to walk home?” Bob asked. Crowley watched as Aziraphale subtly sobered Jimmy up.

“I'll be fine,” Jimmy said, holding his hands out. “I swear. I feel all right now. I'm right – I'm all right.”

Just when Crowley was convinced they would see the sun rise before making it back to the hotel, James turned a corner and they saw the welcome sight of the lobby entrance. “Finally,” Aziraphale grumbled. “My poor feet!” He shot Crowley a pleading look, and was met with a raised eyebrow in response.

“Excuse m, excuse me.” Crowley turned to see the front desk clerk who'd been working nights since their arrival, an older woman with glasses and salt and pepper hair.

Crowley shushed everyone. “Sorry, sorry. It's late.”

“Oh, that's – I mean, yes, thank you. But that's not why I stopped you. You've been upgraded to the International Suite,” the clerk said, holding out a set of keys. “Top floor, last door on the left. We've moved all your belongings, and you'll find a few bottles of chilled champagne in the suite for you.”

Crowley tilted his head as he took the keys. “Is it – uh – would it be all right for us to, you know, have our friends in with us for a bit of – drinks and what not? It is our last night in the city before we head home.”

The clerk smiled and chuckled. “We fully expect everyone in this hotel to be doing the same thing tonight. Just try to keep the noise down.”

“We will absolutely ensure the noise is kept to a minimum,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

They made their way up to the top floor in three separate elevators; Bob, James, Aziraphale, and Crowley ended up together on a silent ride that felt longer than it actually was. Once at the top floor, Crowley led them out of the elevator and slinked down the hall, to the last door on the left. He opened up the door and everyone behind him gasped. The suite was gorgeous, with windows stretching around every wall that offered an incredible view of the city at night. There was a full kitchen, a six person dining table, and the ivory and pale blue décor complemented the tasteful furnishings.

“You're the luckiest bastard I know,” Bob said, chuckling. Jimmy was awed by the chandeliers. Sanjay plopped down in a plush armchair. Larry sniffed out the booze like a bloodhound, and began pouring glasses before Crowley had a chance to kick off his boots. Manuel turned on the radio and a familiar string riff filled the room.

“Not so loud!” William called out.

“Right, right,” Manuel turned the volume down, then came back to the kitchen to wait for a drink.

_Everybody dance_   
_Clap your hands, clap your hands_

Despite the exhortations of the band, everyone was quite danced out at this point and settled for nodding their heads in time and throwing back glasses of champagne. Aziraphale sensed things were about to get rough if he didn't work a minor miracle, and made the choice to keep everyone topped off. The gentle hum of conversation and laughter filled the room as everyone settled into a spot to relax at the end of a very long day. Crowley sidled up next to Aziraphale, who was deep in a passionate discussion with Manuel about the works of Oscar Wilde.

“But the thing about Wilde is-” Manuel began coughing and wasn't able to stop himself; he turned away from Aziraphale and Crowley and continued coughing into his elbow.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, I'm fine,” Manuel said, waving his hand dismissively. He coughed for a few more moments, then was finally able to calm himself. “I'm fine. You know how it is on the planes. Always around so many people.” He laughed and finished off his champagne. “Probably should have taken it easy this weekend, but, it's – eh – this day only comes once a year.”

“Perhaps you should have some tea,” Aziraphale said, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated it was an order, rather than a suggestion. Manuel followed him to the kitchen.

“And this suite's got a balcony, too,” Bob said as he walked into the smaller of the suite's two bedrooms. “AJ, come check this out.”

“Yeah.” Crowley walked through the room. Bob had opened the sliding door and was leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Bob was drunk, but not overly so. The familiar smell of him nearly overwhelmed Crowley. “Come here,” he said, slinging an arm around Crowley's waist. “You seem so happy. Are you happy?” he asked tenderly, running a finger over Crowley's cheekbone.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, his voice a bit gravelly with emotion. “Yeah, I am. I really am.”

“Has he finally learned to treat you right?” Bob's eyes were half-lidded and Crowley could see that his pupils were blown wide.

“Yeah.” Crowley gulped. The memories of their time together flashed before his eyes; sitting on the beach in Playa del Rey, dancing for the first time in New York, waking up together in a hotel room in Philly. “He has.”

“Good.” Bob laid his head on Crowley's shoulder and rested a hand between his shoulder blades. “You deserve it.”

“What about you?” Crowley whispered. “Tell me you're happy, too.”

“Of course I'm happy!” Bob lifted his head and looked at Crowley. “I am. I'm always happy. But I won't lie and say I don't miss you.”

Crowley felt as though he were being pulled apart at the seams; the waves of affection and love rolling off of Bob were so strong as to cause his knees to knock together. “It's because of you, you know. You showed me.”

“Me? Nah,” Bob whispered into Crowley's neck. “How do you always manage to smell so good?”

“Uhhh-”

“There's something different about you.” He gently touched the frame of Crowley's sunglasses. “Isn't there?”

“Not that different.”

“But you're special. You're so special.”

Fireworks began to pop off all around the city; a spike of light here, a bang there, and the buildings of San Francisco were illuminated in red, green, gold. Crowley looked up at the sky, then felt Bob's fingers tipping his chin upwards.

“Think Ezra will mind if I give you a kiss, for old time's sake?” he asked quietly.

Crowley couldn't speak; he simply tilted his head back and let Bob kiss him one last time as the fireworks continued to shoot over the city.

* * *

An hour later, after everyone said their goodbyes and left, an uncomfortable mood settled into the suite. Crowley suspected he knew what it was all about, and waited for the confrontation he knew was likely coming. He put the remaining bottles of champagne back in the fridge, then took his sunglasses off and looked at Aziraphale. The radio was still playing softly, and made the silence between them more bearable.

_Give me love, give me all that you got_   
_You know that I need you, babe_   
_Give me love, give me all that you got_

“What's wrong, Angel?” Crowley finally asked.

“Are you unhappy with me?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“No,” Crowley said forcefully. “Where'd you get that idea?” He sat down on the sofa next to Aziraphale.

“It's just that. Earlier, I - I saw him kiss you, you know. I didn't know if you – if you'd changed your mind, or if you'd-”

“No, no,” Crowley scooted over and placed his hand on Aziraphale's leg, “no, no, no.” He sighed, then let his hand slide inwards and grip the inside of the angel's thigh.

Aziraphale's lower lip was sticking out in a bit of a pout, despite his best efforts. “Ah. So you're not-”

Crowley cut him off by managing to pin his wrists against the couch and land his mouth against the angel's in a desperate, heated kiss.

“No, all right? You hear me?”

“Okay.”

“Sorry, Angel. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have – it just happened.”

“Why?” The minute the ask left his mouth, Aziraphale thought of his trip to Paris, and all the other distractions he'd engaged in over the years to get his mind off Crowley. He had no right to feel the searing heat of jealousy, he knew it, but something in him hadn't caught up with his logical thought processes.

Crowley ran his fingers over his jaw, flicking the stubble that was starting to show. “For me, I think it was just... you know, maybe setting an end to things. A better end. Something less awkward. Not sure about him. I'm not a mind reader.”

Aziraphale hummed and nodded. “Well, now that it's all said and done, I feel a bit silly about it. It's rather silly, honestly, it's not as if...” He laughed quietly. “We should probably call it a night and get some rest. Well, you should get some rest. I'll get to reading. The bed looks-”

“Can I make it up to you?” Crowley asked in a low purr.

“Can you what?”

“Let me make it up to you. Since I wasn't paying you attention.” He threw a leg over Aziraphale and pulled the angel closer. “Tell me what you need.”

Aziraphale let out a breathy sigh. “Are you trying to tempt me, demon?”

“Maybe,” Crowley said slowly. He rolled his hips against Aziraphale's.

A fluttering of Aziraphale's eyelids, and they were both naked, clothes folded neatly on the chair opposite them. Crowley's hand was nestled between Aziraphale's legs, and he let his fingers wander upwards into the soft, slick heat of him.

“That was fast.” Crowley kissed his way across Aziraphale's collarbone.

“I just couldn't wait anymore, darling,” Aziraphale took Crowley in hand and guided him inside, clenching tightly around him with a satisfied sigh. “Goodness, heavens, yes.”

“Guess my skills of persuasion have gotten a lot better in the past few years,” Crowley said with a smile.

“Your skills of persuasion? How do you know you weren't just following my angelic orders?” Aziraphale asked cheekily. Crowley, who had never quite thought of it like that before, was momentarily surprised into stillness. “Move, love, move,” Aziraphale said as he stroked the nape of Crowley's neck.

“Anything you want.”

“More,” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley began picking up his speed, thrusting deeper, gripping Aziraphale tighter. He nipped at the angel's neck, ran his forked tongue over the spots where he'd nearly broken the skin.

“Please, Crowley, I want-”

“What do you want?” Crowley breathed against his neck as he fucked into him.

“I want more.”

“This is all I've got,” Crowley said, slamming into Aziraphale as deep as he could go.

“I want more,” Aziraphale begged. “Please.”

Crowley planted his hands on either side of Aziraphale and searched his face. “What-” he started to ask, before feeling a ferocious wave of possessiveness. He saw the pleading look in Aziraphale's eyes, and somehow, he knew what the angel was going to say before he said it.

“Take me, make me yours,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley gripped Aziraphale's hips tighter and, in a moment of lost control, managed to ignite his fingers against the angel's soft flesh. Aziraphale yelped in surprise, and Crowley jerked his hand back.

“Ah, fuck, what'd I do?” Crowley was afraid to look.

“It's all right, love, really. It didn't hurt, it was mostly the shock of it.” Aziraphale sat up and examined his hip. “Oh,” he said in an awed tone of voice.

“What?” Crowley finally looked down and saw it: a mark burned into Aziraphale's skin, a swirled shape that very closely resembled the tattoo on his face. It was a bit pinker than the surrounding skin and, thankfully, looked more like a shallow scar or stretch mark than a burn.

“Can you see it?” Aziraphale ran his fingers over the new mark.

“Yeah.” Crowley swallowed. “Can you, uh... take it off?”

“I could.”

Crowley sighed in relief. He let his head go slack; his hair fell down over his eyes and onto Aziraphale's face as he leaned down to kiss him. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon and deepened the kiss, then allowed his foot to trail down the back of Crowley's leg.

“But why would I want to?” Aziraphale murmured against Crowley's lips. Crowley pulled back and met the angel's eyes. “Oh, don't look so shocked,” he said, placing his fingers under Crowley's jaw to gently push his open mouth closed. “Just get back to it. If you don't mind.” Aziraphale tapped Crowley's arse with his other hand and wiggled beneath him, and Crowley proceeded to follow Aziraphale's every request until the sun rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more notes coming soon! but the Polaroids were a historic thing done at the Fairoaks (I chose to have them go to another more traditional bathhouse during the time period)...


	42. Defying The Laws of Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick jaunt to Switzerland...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so weird times huh! I thought it was going to be super easy to sit in quarantine and write all this but... my brain has felt like mush. But I was able to push this through and I'm very happy about it! I still think we are at the approximately 3-4 chapters to the end... I am going to continue this story through to the canon and after, but still working out exactly how I'm going to do that. it is going to tie into events related to this story. Thank you all for continuing to follow along and read! <3

Wednesday, 12 July 1978  
The Bookshop, Soho

It was the end of a very pleasant summer day, and the sun had recently set. Crowley was in the bookshop with Aziraphale, in what had become a bit of a ritual; he sprawled out on the sofa with his head on the angel's lap. Aziraphale held his book with one hand and tangled the fingers of his other hand into Crowley's hair, alternating between scratching and twirling motions, giving special attention to the nape of the demon's neck.

“Would you go with me to the opera next week?”

“What's today's date?” Crowley hadn't left the bookshop, or Aziraphale, in at least four days. Five? Maybe five. Crowley wasn't sure.

“It's the twelfth, dear,” Aziraphale said without looking up from his book. “It's a Wednesday.”

“Oh, well. Let me just check my little calendar here, then,” Crowley said facetiously, maneuvering his body so he could pull a slim black book from his back pocket and thumbing through it. To his surprise, there was something written down in the book: _Mountain/Montreux_. He tried to figure out what this might mean, (the date book had a funny way of filling itself up without Crowley's knowledge) and groaned loudly once he put it all together.

“Shit. I promised Freddie I'd go do that session for him.” Crowley sat up. “You remember?”

“Do I remember the fateful afternoon when Freddie Mercury interrupted our – how did he put it - 'sex holiday'? How could I forget,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well. I do actually have to do this. But it shouldn't take too long, they always work fast. I'll leave two days from now, it's only in Switzerland. Should be back by the weekend,” Crowley said, leaning over to plant a few kisses on Aziraphale's neck.

“You know, I could... come with you,” Aziraphale said shyly. “If you'd like, that is, it's not really all that busy at the shop right now, what with everyone being on holiday, and I'm sure I could get away for a few days-”

“Great. Come with me, then,” Crowley interrupted. He patted Aziraphale's thigh and grinned. Oh, bloody fucking hell, this felt amazing. Of course Aziraphale would come with him, they'd not been out of each other's sight for most of the year. Aziraphale would join him, and Crowley would have him; Crowley would whip money and hotel upgrades and exclusive dinner reservations out of thin air, blow off studio work to join Aziraphale on walks through parks they'd visited hundreds of years ago, make love to him every night. Crowley was high on the rush of it all, and nearly fell over when he tried to stand up.

“Probably should check on the plants before I go.” He looked down at Aziraphale's pleading face.

“Yes, I suppose you should.” Aziraphale batted his eyelashes a few times and tilted his head just so.

“But,” Crowley turned slowly towards Aziraphale, “I don't have to do it right now.”

“No, you absolutely don't.” Crowley pushed Aziraphale back against the couch and began kissing him furiously; another ritual that led to another ritual involving the two of them naked on the shop floor for long periods of time.

* * *

Thursday 13 July 1978

It was the mid-afternoon, and Crowley had finally gone off to water his plants and check the messages that had no doubt been piling up in his absence. Aziraphale was puttering about the shop, packing a small bag for his upcoming travel. He'd already packed clothes and essentials, and was making the agonizing decision over which books to take with him when he was suddenly aware of an angelic presence. It was the first time such a presence had felt so foreboding. All the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he turned slowly to see Gabriel standing in a pool of violet light in the middle of the shop.

“A _zir_ aphale. So good to see you.”

Aziraphale sucked in a quick breath and smiled as beatifically as he possibly could given the circumstances. “ _Ga_ briel,” he said, parroting the patronizing way his supervisor always said his name. “Good to see you.” They stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Aziraphale cleared his throat and continued. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” he asked.

“No particular reason.”

“Ah.”

“Just checking in. Last time we spoke, you said you'd been having trouble keeping up with routine work. It seems that hasn't changed.” Gabriel forced out an insincere laugh and tilted his head towards said stack of incomplete reports and assignments, clearly visible on the right side of Aziraphale's cluttered desk.

Shit. He'd really meant to catch up on those, he really had. No way to get away with a frivolous miracle with Gabriel standing right in front of him. “Goodness, I apologize, I've uh – I've been-”

“Packing your bags, Aziraphale? You going somewhere?” Gabriel asked, gesturing to Aziraphale's tan leather suitcase.

Aziraphale felt panic rising up to his throat. “Nowhere, really. Short trip.”

“Is it nowhere, or is it a short trip?” Gabriel crossed his arms.

“Well - I guess it's – most people around here tend to get out of town around this time of year, when it gets hot, it seemed like a good time for it.”

“It's called a 'holiday' if my sources are correct, yes?”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. “Yes, that's what it's called. A holiday. Just a holiday where, get out of town for a few days. Take a bit of a break. Loads of people do it.”

“Fascinating,” Gabriel said flatly.

“I – it's not urgent, if I need to stay and catch up on my work, I'm happy to reschedule.” He was sure Crowley wouldn't be too upset if he had to stay back this time, of course Crowley was aware that these little visits from Heaven popped up from time to time, often at the absolute worst times.

“Any more updates on the priority assignment?” Gabriel sat down on the very edge of the sofa, crossed his legs, and hooked his hands over his knee.

“Uh, yes,” Aziraphale said as he sat down. “What would you like to know?”

“Have you been inside a void location?” Gabriel's face was normally devoid of any emotion besides annoyance or smugness. Now, he was unmistakably curious. Aziraphale had the upper hand, and he planned on using it to the fullest of his abilities.

“Yes.”

Gabriel held his hands out. “Well? What's happening in there?”

“I only figured out how to get into one of these places last week,” Aziraphale lied with his whole body, throwing himself into the role with dramatic gestures shamelessly copied from Larry.

“And? What's happening in there?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “It's quite interesting.”

“Interesting? That can mean so many things.”

“There's lots of... dancing,” he said calmly.

“Dancing?”

“Yes, quite a lot of it.”

“Dancing. Huh.” Gabriel placed a hand on his chin. “To music?”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Gabriel leaned forward. “Is... is that what the songs were all about?”

“I'm sorry?”

“All the newer songs. The ones I asked you about, you know, the ones about the angels,” Gabriel made a half-hearted motion with his hands, “is the point to – well, what's the point of it all, I guess is what I'm asking.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I'm not sure that there is a singular point to what happens inside these places.”

“But the songs are important?”

“Oh, yes – you meant – yes, of course. Yes, that's the main point of it, to dance to the songs.”

“How many people are dancing? How do they dance?”

“Well, the space I visited was a rather large one, so-”

“There were lots of people there?”

Aziraphale took a breath and prayed for the patience to continue through all of Gabriel's interruptions. “Yes, many people, and – they typically just, they're-”

“People really dance to those songs?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale did his best to contain his glee at being able to endure Gabriel's line of questioning with a lot of one-word answers.

“Would you say most of the songs are about angels?”

“Uh-”

“I know, I know. You don't know every single thing there is to know about this. I get it. Just use your best estimate.”

Aziraphale thought of his many visits to disco clubs with Crowley; in his memory, there seemed to be a fairly even mix of songs about angels and songs about demons. “There are certainly... many songs about angels, I would say that, yes." 

“Do people respond positively to those songs?”

“Yes, I'd say so.” Aziraphale smiled. “Actually, I saw someone dressed up in an angel costume.”

“An angel – a costume?” Gabriel's brows were knit together in confusion. “Tell me, Aziraphale, what does an angel 'costume' look like?” he asked.

“Well, I saw someone dressed in white, with a set of white, fluffy wings,” Aziraphale said honestly, leaving out unnecessary details like the sequined short shorts and all the drugs.

“Huh. I would have expected something different.” Gabriel locked his violet eyes on Aziraphale. “Would you describe it as a place of joy?” The Archangel's tone was earnest, free from sarcasm.

“So, you're telling me,” Gabriel paused, “that people inside these locations are – the many people – they're dancing, with joy, and they dance, with joy, to the songs that are about angels? Am I understanding this correctly?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “That is one way to say it.” Gabriel wasn't wrong, per se, but -

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale.” Gabriel had never said his name like this before, softly, almost tenderly. “You've made me so very proud.” He stood and placed his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders. “Thank you. Thank you for this." 

“I've...”

“It's obviously a house of worship!” Gabriel exclaimed. “I mean, from what you're saying. There are people in here, they're dancing, and they're dancing in joy, to this new sacred music! I don't understand how in the Heavens we missed it.” He laughed to himself. “Humans! What a strange bunch of creatures. Personally, I don't understand why She gave them free... oh, never mind, that's not really important. What is important is that they've apparently found a new and exciting way to sing the praises of the Almighty and rejoice in the golden glow of righteousness. It might not make sense to us angels, but – hey – they are allowed to make their own choices.” He shrugged.

Aziraphale was speechless; his mouth hung open and he made no effort to close it.

“Don't tell me _you_ missed it, Aziraphale.”

“I -”

Gabriel stepped closer so he was directly in Aziraphale's face. Just when the tension reached unbearable levels, he burst out into raucous laughter. “Aziraphale. Aziraphale! You're so funny, I've never noticed how funny you are,” Gabriel reached out and mussed up Aziraphale's hair. “Really got me there! You nearly had me thinking you didn't notice.”

Aziraphale smiled and shrugged, then laughed quietly. “Obviously,” he said.

“Go on then. On your little 'holiday.' Don't let me stop you. Just make sure you get your routine work done once you're back. Make it a priority.” Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on the back hard enough to leave a dull ache in between his shoulder blades.

“Certainly.” Aziraphale watched him leave through the front door and stride down the sidewalk. He stood stock-still in the middle of the shop for a few moments before working up the courage to walk to the door. Gabriel was gone; no trace of him or any other messenger of Heaven anywhere.

“What in the absolute bloody hell was that?” Aziraphale strode briskly back to where his suitcase lay half-zipped on the floor. He grabbed a few books from his desk, stuffed them in, and walked towards the door, snapping his fingers on his way out and locking up for the weekend. A sign appeared in the window; written in immaculate cursive were the words “On Holiday.” Thirty seconds later, the angel stepped into the back seat of the only free cab in Soho. Although his conversation with Gabriel had gone far better than expected, he couldn't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder the entire way to Crowley's flat.

* * *

Montreux, Switzerland  
Friday 14 July 1978

Crowley had called in a favor, and he and Aziraphale flew to Switzerland on a private jet with gaudy gold accents and a fully stocked bar.

“Crowley, you don't really have to go out of your way like this,” Aziraphale had said while sipping a mimosa. “It would have been perfectly fine for us to get here in, oh, some other ordinary way. You didn't have to do all this just for my sake.”

“It's nothing, really. Not a problem at all.” Crowley slouched back in his seat.

“Oh, you absolute dear. Come here.” Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley's chin and tipped it up so he could land a few tender, if slightly sloppy, kisses on the demon's mouth. “You're too good to me, love.”

Crowley grumbled and tried his best to look unaffected by the words of praise as Aziraphale looked out the window and pointed out places they'd been before: the Southern coast of England, Normandy, Paris. It wasn't long before they landed in Geneva; they walked directly off the plane and into a private car, where they started snogging in the back seat before the driver had loaded their bags into the boot. The drive from Geneva to Montreux typically only took an hour and a half, but for some peculiar reason, traffic was horrid and they were on the road for nearly four hours.

* * *

The moment they arrived in Montreux, Brian and Freddie were there to whisk Crowley off to the studio. The demon didn't even get to drop his small weekend bag in the hotel room Freddie had booked for him, just handed it off to the bellboy who wrangled Aziraphale's giant beige suitcase onto a luggage cart. He spent a few hours in session getting to know David, the resident engineer. That was before the members of Queen got into a fight over lyrics stalled the session for the rest of the day. Crowley took this as an opportunity to fuck off and he did; he took Aziraphale to a late lunch at a lovely restaurant overlooking the lake, then immediately back to their hotel room, where he lazily licked and sucked Aziraphale’s cunt for a few hours. Just after sunset, the phone rang. Crowley ignored it. It rang again, then again, and then Crowley kicked it on the floor while he brought his angel to one last whimpering, moaning orgasm. Then, he crawled up to take an exhausted, wrung-out Aziraphale in his arms.

“That good for you, love?” Crowley tested the word out for the first time against Aziraphale’s neck, to see how it felt on its way out into the world.

“Oh, Crowley, my dear, my sweet,” Aziraphale panted, “you - it’s always good, you’re always good.” A slight tremor coursed through Crowley’s body and he let out a groan.

“Want to be good for you,” he whispered. Aziraphale chuckled and pulled Crowley’s arms tighter around him. They snuggled in silence for a few minutes before a furious pounding on the door startled them. Aziraphale sat upright and clutched the sheet to his chest.

“My word!” he exclaimed. “With all that pounding. Is there a fire?”

“AJ, dammit, open the goddamn door!”

Aziraphale and Crowley recognized the voice instantly; Freddie fucking Mercury was outside their door, interrupting them for the second time.

“Shit,” Crowley muttered. He stood, snapped his fingers, and was instantly dressed; Aziraphale quickly did the same, making the bed while he was at it.

“I know you’re in there fucking your-”

Crowley opened the door. “There’s really no need for that,” he snarled. “I take it my services are needed.”

Freddie looked in the room, clearly surprised to see Aziraphale fully clothed, sitting on a perfectly made bed with a book in his hands. “Hello, Freddie,” the angel said calmly.

“Yeah, we worked it all out. As you know, this shit isn’t free,” Freddie said with a dramatically raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Let’s go.” Crowley walked over to kiss Aziraphale on the cheek. “See you later, love,” he said. He swore he felt a warm, glowing sort of feeling envelop him after he said that word again; a feeling that seemed to follow him as he turned and headed out.

“I’m uh-“ Freddie looked at the ground. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Really wouldn’t have come up here, but I tried to call you for an hour.” He pointed to the phone, which was still in a tangled mess on the floor, the receiver off the hook.

“Ah. Right.” Crowley moved forward as though he were about to go fix it before Aziraphale stood.

“It’s all right, my dear, I’ve got it. You’ve got to get to work. Have a - have fun?” Aziraphale said as he delicately placed the phone back on its stand and the receiver back in its proper spot.

“Yeah, that works.” Crowley tipped his head, and then followed Freddie back down the hallway.

“Hey mate, I’m sorry about that,” Freddie said as the door to the hotel room clicked closed behind them. “I wouldn’t have - well. I shouldn’t have.”

“Not a problem.” Crowley pressed the button for the lift.

“I know - well, it seems like you two are absolutely gone on each other. Always a shame when someone interrupts. If it’s unwanted.”

Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of that, and said nothing as they rode the two short floors down to the main lobby. The recording studio was a part of the casino, which was not quite attached to the hotel, but so close that it may well have been. Freddie led the way through the winding hallways until they were back in the cozy, snug studio with the wooden walls and the giant console.

“All right, you bastards, he's back,” Freddie said, addressing Brian, John, and Roger, who were taking turns tossing an apple back and forth between themselves in some sort of game, “let's keep it professional, shall we?”

“Professional?” Brian asked incredulously; he turned his attention to Freddie and was then hit in the face with the apple. “You're the one who-”

“All right, lads, all right,” Crowley held up his hands and flicked a good amount of agreeable energy into the room, “it's not important. I'm here now, so talk to me. How's it going?”

“I think it's been going well, actually, all things considered,” Roger said quietly. He scooted back behind the drum kit, adjusted the seat, and sat down. “I'm ready to do a take if you clowns are,” he said.

Freddie laughed his warm, infectious laugh, and made his way to the piano. “Been ready all fucking day, darling.”

“You're such a cunt,” Brian muttered to his amp.

“What was that?” Freddie called out, a wicked grin on his face. “All right, AJ, get out, go back where you belong.” Crowley tipped his head and walked back out to the control room, where David was fiddling with the tape machine while an engineer was adjusting settings on the console.

“You need me to adjust anything, or-” he asked the engineer, whose face he couldn't recognize, “-I'm sorry, I don't think we've met.”

“Name's John,” said the man as he extended a hand to Crowley. They shook hands quickly, and then he returned to his task of moving the sliders, one by one.

“Can I help you with anything?” Crowley asked David.

“Nah, we're just about good,” David said as he lined up the last of the tape. He lit a cigarette and sat down. Crowley slouched back into the small loveseat. “You want one?”

“I'm good, thanks.”

“Okay, can you hear me in there?” John asked. He got thumbs up from the four men inside. “Are we ready to roll?”

“Can I get a lot more of him-” Roger pointed a drumstick at Freddie, “-in my mix?”

John nodded and made the adjustments. “Freddie, give us a little sound.” Freddie responded by banging on the keys and singing something that sounded like “Holly hoot-hoot-hoot-hoot” at the top of his lungs.

“Give it a goddamned rest,” Roger yelled.

“How about now?” John asked.

Brian waved his hands in a rolling motion. “We're ready, we've been bloody ready for a bloody long time,” he said.

“All right.” David nodded at John, who pressed down two buttons with his fingers. “Rolling.”

Freddie flashed Crowley a wink through the control room window, placed his hands in position on the piano, and began to sing.

_Tonight, I'm gonna have myself_   
_A real good time_   
_I feel alive_

In just a few seconds, Crowley was completely mesmerized; Freddie’s voice combined with his fluid piano playing captured him almost instantly. And from the looks of it, David and John as well.

_And the world_   
_I’ll turn it inside out, yeah_   
_And floating around in ecstasy_

_So don’t stop me now_   
_Don’t stop me-_

“Wow,” Crowley said softly.

_Cause I’m havin' a good time_   
_Havin' a good time_

He wasn’t prepared for the song to go where it did; right into a bright tempo shift with a punch of energy. Then again, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Crowley had only been in the studio twice with Freddie and Queen before. The first session, they’d worked on straightforward rock track, and the second had been a tender ballad. One never knew what to expect when it came to this band, and that was just fine by Crowley.

_I’m gonna go, go, go_   
_There’s no stopping me_

“Oh, this is a great take,” Dave said.

The other engineer nodded. Crowley watched as Freddie threw himself entirely into it, performing as though he was in front of an audience of thousands rather than the live room. John and Roger were locked into a tight groove, and Brian didn’t seem to miss a single note.

_I wanna make a supersonic man outta you_

Freddie locked eyes with Crowley once more and he felt a jolt of energy exchanged between them. Crowley tilted his head and returned the energy full force, letting the bits of lust and excitement and pride bounce off him and back into the room. The effect was immediate; Freddie jumped up from the piano bench as though he'd been shocked, and that ratcheted up the tempo a bit. Crowley watched as Roger pounded the drums with vigor and John and Brian stared at each other while adding some complementary flourishes. He'd always been a fan of Brian's unique guitar tone, and when he took his solo, it worked perfectly over the song. Finally, Roger hit the crash one last time. He was about to stand, but Freddie was still at the piano, still singing beautifully, ad-libbing over a modified, gentler version of the chords he'd been pounding at for the past few minutes.

“Wait, wait, just let it fade!” Crowley stood and started to reach for David's arm, but the engineer lifted his hands off the console. Crowley gestured furiously to the band members, who were staring to take their headsets off, but thankfully hadn’t laughed or spoken yet. He covered his mouth and pointed to Freddie, and everyone remained still until he stopped singing and playing the piano. Finally, he stood up and produced another cigarette from nowhere.

“I think that was it, don’t you, darling?” Freddie asked as he lit his cigarette, then pushed the mic stand away from his face.

“It was a great take,” John said.

“Now you just need to add all the extras on top,” Brian said as he set his guitar down.

“Yes, I'll have to get around to that once I've had a bit of a break.” He strolled out of the live room and draped an arm over Crowley. “Why don't you let AJ hear some of what we've been working on here?”

John switched over the reel and pressed play. The room was immediately filled with a wall of Freddie's distinct stacked vocal harmonies:

_BICYCLE_   
_BICYCLE_   
_BICYCLE_

“What in the bloody hell is-” Crowley cracked up laughing and watched Freddie pretend to ride a bicycle around the tiny control room, knocking over an ashtray and kneeing David in the process.

“Do you like it, AJ?” Freddie asked.

“It's one of a kind, that's for sure.” Crowley found himself tapping a toe to the wacky tune.

“I'm not sure that's a compliment, darling.”

“Oh, it is,” Crowley clarified, “it's absolutely a compliment.”

“Speaking of compliments, you look absolutely ravishing in that shirt, AJ, really.” Freddie ran a finger over the lapel of Crowley's red shirt.

“This is the same shirt I wear to almost every session,” Crowley said quietly.

“True though that may be, the compliment still stands.” Freddie curtsied. “Shall we break for the afternoon?”

“Wh- well! We've only just done the one take!” Roger exclaimed, his voice muffled by the control room window.

“It's fine, dear, we're paid up for the month,” Freddie said dismissively. “That is true, isn't it?” he asked David under his breath.

“Absolutely, yes, it is.” David gave Freddie a curt and discreet nod.

“Go, explore, rent a – I don't know – boat on the lake or something. Play with the swans. Have fun. AJ and I are going to go to the casino for a drink.”

David cleared his throat. “In all seriousness, please don't try to play with the swans, they're likely to try to drown you,” he said into the talkback. Freddie took Crowley by the arm and whisked him out of the control room before the rest of the band had put down their instruments. Freddie worked very hard to convince Crowley to join him for an afternoon rental of a novelty boat, but as the saying goes, 'the devil works harder,' and after a solid argument, they ended up at a blackjack table for a few hours.

* * *

While Crowley was in session, Aziraphale decided to walk around the casino, which had been rebuilt within the past four years. There were framed imaged everywhere of the old, grand casino that had very recently burnt to the ground in a horrible fire. Aziraphale meandered around for a bit, taking in the atmosphere of the baccarat tables and slot machines before making his way to a table outside to have a little bite and a drink. The angel nibbled his way through a few delightful pastries and nursed a glass of white wine for an hour or so. He alternated between reading and watching people walking by the lake. The temperature on the patio was perfect. In fact, it was the nicest day the city of Montreux had ever recorded, and everyone present in the city on the 14th of July would recall it as such. Aziraphale had reopened his book and was reading a particularly exciting passage when he was aware of a presence standing before him.

“Aziraphale, is that you?”

The angel froze at the mention of his name. He turned slowly to see Uriel standing before him. “Uriel,” he said with a nod. What in the bloody fuck was Uriel doing in fucking Switzerland? “What, ah, what brings you to these parts?”

Uriel put their hands behind their back. They had always been so graceful, hadn't they? “I was in the area on an assignment.” They stared at Aziraphale without blinking, and the Angel of the Eastern Gate squirmed in his seat.

“Would you like to sit down?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Uriel nodded and stiffly, awkwardly sat down in the chair, as though they'd never done it before. “What are you doing so far from your... your earthly base of operations?”

“I'm on holiday,” Aziraphale said before downing the rest of his drink. He raised his hand and managed to catch the waiter's attention. “Can I get you something?”

“On holiday?” Uriel narrowed their eyes.

“I'm taking a break. A breather. Getting some fresh air. I'm-”

“The light of righteousness never rests, Aziraphale,” Uriel said with a furrowed brow. “I'm not sure what you mean. We're ethereal beings, we don't need-”

“Oh, piss off, Uriel, I'm just on a holiday, it doesn't _mean_ anything at all. That's not how this works. They wanted me here, so I'm here. I'm here, and I'm posing as a human. So sometimes I do these things – human things – that I'm certain don't make any sense to anyone Up There. If you don't want a drink, just say so.” He could feel that his face was red, and frankly, he didn't care. His outburst was, unsurprisingly, met with silence.

Uriel's mouth had fallen open. “I – it wasn't meant to – that's hardly a way to talk to a fellow Angel!” they stammered before crossing their arms and giving Aziraphale a glare that could have crumbled stone.

Aziraphale put his head in his hands. “Oh, for Heaven's sake,” he said, “I've gone and been an absolute prat over the whole thing. I'm sorry, Uriel. I should not be speaking to any of my heavenly brethren with such... impatience.”

“All is forgiven,” Uriel said, although a look of suspicion lingered on their face.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Won't you join me? Just one drink. It's really not as bad as it's cracked up to be.” He held up his cocktail.

“I don't think I will join you in the... consumption of gross matter,” Uriel said slowly, “but I will engage in conversation with you for a short period.” They nodded and sat down.

Then, over Uriel's shoulder, Aziraphale caught a glimpse of a distinctive head of red hair. He watched the whole thing happen in slow motion; Crowley strutted towards him, hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, swinging his hips without a care. He approached Aziraphale with a smile on his face until he saw Uriel turn around to see what Aziraphale was seeing. Uriel, of course, immediately saw Crowley, and whipped quickly back to address Aziraphale.

“Isn't that...?” Uriel asked.

“It's – ah-” Aziraphale did not know what to say; his body had gone cold to the core. He'd been caught with his guard down, and now he would surely have to pay the price. He had learned much from Crowley in the past few years, though, and so he straightened up his spine and prepared to attempt to lie his way out of it. “It is indeed, the foul and evil demon Cr...”

He trailed off as he noticed the complete and utter silence now surrounding them. Aziraphale looked to the lake to see it completely still, then to his fellow diners, all frozen in awkward positions. He touched his face, his chest, to make sure he himself wasn't suddenly unable to move. Then the angel felt a hand on his upper arm and turned to see Crowley kneeling on the ground next to him.

“You all right?” Crowley was deeply concerne; Aziraphale could tell from his trembling hands.

“Yes, I'm fine, dear, I just – well,” Aziraphale suddenly felt short of breath,

“Didn't realize you were dealing with-” Crowley brushed his hand over Aziraphale's sweaty forehead, “-are you sure you're all right?”

“Crowley, what have you done?”

“Angel, I haven’t done-”

Aziraphale pointed at Uriel, who was frozen in place just like everyone (and everything) else. “You’ve stopped time again, dear. Didn't you realize what you were doing?”

Crowley looked into Aziraphale's hazel eyes and gulped, then turned his attention to the motionless lake. “Guess I didn't,” he said after a long pause.

Aziraphale looked at Uriel, then back to Crowley. “I think it's probably fine, dear, as long as you, ah – as long as you...”

“As long as I what?”

Crowley, who had been successfully reading between Aziraphale's weighted silences for a good six thousand years, knew what Aziraphale meant; 'as long as you're able to make it so Uriel doesn't remember.' He set his jaw. If he was going to try to do something like this, might as well be big. Crowley snapped, and vanished without any fanfare. Time restarted, and the only clue that Crowley had been present was the faintest trace of sulfur in the air, most likely undetectable to anyone but a celestial entity. Uriel blinked rapidly, then gave Aziraphale the same slight smile they'd given earlier.

“Aziraphale? Is that you?” Uriel asked, in the exact same tone and cadence they'd used earlier.

“Hello, Uriel,” Aziraphale said cautiously.

“Hello, Aziraphale, what an unexpected surprise. What brings you to these parts?” Their voice lacked the suspiciousness it had held before.

“Just, ah – just on holiday.” Aziraphale flashed a small smile, then took a sip of his drink. '

“Holiday?”

“A holiday – yes it's – it's a human tradition, one I've rather taken a liking to-” Aziraphale was tripping over his words; why was he so nervous about the very same conversation he'd been having just a few minutes ago?

“Ah.” Uriel tilted their head, and the gold spots on their face caught the light glinting off the lake. “So it's similar to a Sabbath?”

“Ah, well, not exactly. It's – mmm – it's similar in some ways, one could say, due to the concept of resting, but a holiday isn't quite a holiday of worship in the sense that you or I – or any other angels, for that matter – understand it, it's-”

“I see.” Uriel paused, and Aziraphale set down his drink and put his hands in his lap. Just as the break in conversation stretched from a moment of quiet into an awkward silence, they spoke again. “Well, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, I must bid you farewell. I do not understand these Earthly customs, but I trust you have your reasons for engaging in them.” Uriel nodded, turned on their heels in precise fashion, and walked forward into a bright beam of light.

Aziraphale stood, nearly knocking over his chair, and making such a racket that diners from three tables nearby turned to gape at him. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his forehead, then sat back down. “I'm going to have to have a talk with Crowley about this,” the very flustered Angel of the Eastern Gate muttered to himself as he summoned and paid his check, tipping his server more than twice the amount of the bill. He stood, more carefully this time, and walked briskly towards the hotel. Crowley had been acting rather strangely these past few years; if his demon was now able to work magic like this on an angel – an _angel!_ \- things were about to get very interesting indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify was being weird for a while but I think the songs got added in there! I think Jazz is such a unique Queen album. Full of some of their best moments, imho. Enjoy :)
> 
> And yes! The Montreux Casino burnt to the ground... the song "Smoke on the Water" is about this, actually! It burnt to the ground in the early 70s and was back in operations by the late 1970s. The city is currently the home of the "Queen Experience", which is set up in the former Mountain Studios. Someday when we can all travel again I'm going to go!


End file.
